


The Twelvety-Twelve Days of Yule

by hope91



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gift Giving, Hobbit Culture, Hobbit holiday traditions, M/M, Sex Toys, Yuletide, dwarf holiday traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope91/pseuds/hope91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo wants to celebrate one last Yuletide in the Shire before he sails for the Undying Lands.  His kin and friends are only too happy to oblige.</p><p>(Gimli, ever the generous and talented dwarf, has crafted many gifts to give to his beloved elf, for who is he to ignore the hobbits' traditions, even if he interprets them a bit differently?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the first day of Yuletide, my true love gave to me....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



The first thing Gimli noticed when he and Legolas walked into Bag End was the smell. Burned…potatoes?

The ginger-haired dwarf shared a meaningful look with his beloved elf, squeezing Legolas’ hand in an unspoken message. Perhaps it was indeed as Lord Elrond had warned them – the hobbit was no longer capable of all he had been able to do in the past, his sudden aging magnified even further with the destruction of the One Ring.

And so they were most surprised to see the elderly hobbit standing in his kitchen, renewed vigor in his often hobbling step, patting Bofur on the back. “Not to worry, my friend. I’ve partaken of enough _Margu Lukh_ _ûd_ celebrations with you to know that you burn your fair share of your delicious holiday potato cakes.”

“I do not!” Bofur said indignantly. “Not nearly as many as you!”

Bilbo appreciated Bofur’s good-natured ribbing – it certainly helped distract him from feeling so old and stretched. In fact, ever since returning to Bag End for this one last Yuletide celebration, he'd felt surprisingly spry.

“Legolas! Gimli!” The hobbit was then happily distracted by the unlikely pair, and moved slowly to their side. “I’m glad you could make it – Dwalin had said you might not be able to get away from Minas Tirith and all of the work you have committed to there.”

“Hmph!” Gimli’s tone dripped with well-played mock outrage. “And miss this momentous event, my chance to witness the fabled Yuletide celebrations that nearly rivaled our own _Margu Lukhûd_ , at least from what I had heard over the years from those of the Company? Never! Besides, my elf here has not yet partaken of either a Yuletide or _Margu Lukhûd_ , and we surely cannot have that!”

“Surely not!” Bilbo replied, grabbing Legolas’ hand with the intent to immediately begin instructing him on the preparation of the far most important component of the season – the planning and preparation of the twelvety meals he would serve to his guests.

But the sight that entered the room stopped them short.

Dwalin, resplendent in a red suit with white fur trim, an outfit that was far too long for his body, but fit just-right in the torso. Almost.

Gimli’s eyes widened, while Bofur and Bilbo took one look at each other and burst out laughing.

“What is it?” Legolas whispered to his beloved, not quite understanding what everyone found so funny.

“I, Master Elf, am to be Father Yule, dressed to deliver gifts on this first day of the holiday to all of the hobbitlings of the Shire.” Dwalin stood with such stern conviction that the laughter died down. “Master Gamgee requested it of me, as Gandalf has not yet made an appearance for his traditional Yuletide task, and I would not be the cause of the unhappiness of little ones.”

“Now,” Dwalin said, “Where are these gifts you’d like me to give to them? As long as I don’t have to slide down the chimneys like Gandalf typically does for you, I am ready.”

“Of course, of course,” Bilbo muttered, beckoning Dwalin and Bofur to follow. “Gimli! Legolas! Will you finish the potato cakes for us? It’s Bombur’s _Margu Lukh_ _ûd_ recipe, I imagine you know it?”

Gimli certainly did, and he placed a warm kiss on his elf’s hand before leading him into the kitchen, Legolas gracefully ducking his head as needed to make his way through the hobbit hole.

The elf gazed around as his hervenn inspected the current state of cooking affairs in the room, wondering at the spruce and fir branches that seemed to be hung from every nook and cranny, decorated by ornamental figures and strangely-smelling red and white twists of sugary-something.

“Gimli,” Legolas moved to look over his dwarf’s shoulder as he stood at the wood-burning stove, “Why are you cooking those in so much oil?” The elf’s stomach turned at the thought of eating it.

“One cannot make good potato cakes without enough oil! Besides, this is hardly any – it’s not as if they are swimming in it! Come, I’ll make more batter while you cook them, and you shall be the first elf to taste the way potatoes _should_ be made!”

Legolas wasn’t one who did much cooking – or eating, for that matter – but he enjoyed learning new things, especially those that related to his beloved’s culture and traditions.

So, soon enough, _he_ was the one burning the potato cakes.

“Gimli!” He said, exasperated as he waved the spatula in the air. “This is impossible! Either they turn out raw, or they burn! Does Gandalf have a role in this also, and generally cook them with a magic spell?!”

“Nay! This is a dwarven recipe, passed down through generations and perfected by our own legendary Bombur, expert on all food delights.” He slid in front of Legolas, tossing out the currently-cooking cakes and readying another batch for the frying pan. 

Unfortunately for Legolas, he found it difficult to concentrate with his dwarf standing right in front of him – the smell of stone and earth wafting to his nose, the silk of his ginger-red hair….soon enough he was planting kisses all over Gimli’s hair, his fingertips grazing his dwarf’s broad shoulders, his well-muscled arms, his stomach, his…

A throat clearing interrupted his explorations, and he nearly cursed in Sindarin at the unexpected stoppage of his spur-of-the-moment activity, having forgotten they weren’t alone.

But then he saw it was Frodo, and he enveloped the hobbit in his arms.

“Hmph! You look well, Master Hobbit!” Gimli had moved to embrace his dear friend as well, happy to see that he seemed to be suffering less than he had at other points after the end of the Quest.

“Ah, how could I not be? This reminds me of the latter parts of my young adulthood, Uncle Bilbo mixing hobbit traditions with dwarven ones.” Frodo’s mind was filled with warm, fond memories of all of the Yuletide seasons he had spent here in the past, and he was just as excited as Bilbo to have the chance to do so once again.

“Indeed. As I was telling your uncle, our elf here has a lot to learn over the next days! He has no holiday as grand as ours!”

Well, that was entirely untrue, Legolas thought. The Feast of Starlight alone was surely as grand and merry as anything he would witness here. “I would beg to differ, meleth-nin. I…”

A _roar_ from outside drowned out his words.

It was Dwalin, surrounded by very young hobbits, their squeals and yells creating more noise than Gimli or Legolas would have imagined possible.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Dwalin grabbed his stomach, pretending to be as jolly as he possibly could in his best-possible Gandalf-as-Father-Yule impression. It was a challenge, given that he felt a bit foolish, but the sheer joy on the faces of the little ones wiped those emotions away, and soon enough he was giving away Bilbo’s gifts as happily as Gandalf himself would have.

“Now the fireworks, Father Yule!” yelled one of the hobbitlings.

“Yes, fireworks!” yelled another.

“Ho, ho, ho, I think it’s a bit too cold for fireworks, young ones!”

“No, no it’s not! Do the one with the elk pulling the sleigh! Please!”

“Please! Please!”

It was Sam who came to Dwalin’s rescue, telling the children of Hobbiton that fireworks would be for another day – and at their disappointed sighs, he told a grand story of Gandalf’s most impressive holiday fireworks show, one with animals and snow-hobbits and all sorts of impressive red-and-greenery.

“Now for our gifts inside!” Bilbo hobbled indoors, ready to warm himself by the fire. “On the first day of Yule,” he said pointedly to Legolas, knowing how little elves knew of his favorite holiday, “we give presents.”

It was no surprise to Legolas, for he knew of the hobbit’s love for gift-giving – and receiving. “And what of the other days?” It seemed strange that the feasting and present-giving was done on the first day – what remained for the rest?

“Why, more presents, of course!” And then he wagged a finger at the blond elf. “And don’t forget the twelvety meals over the twelve days of Yule, we need to fatten you up, dear elf, now that you’ve married a dwarf! Why, that gives me an idea, perhaps you can be Father Yule tomorrow. For if a dwarf could do so, why not an elf who is now essentially a dwarf as well?”

The elf was strangely interested in the idea, though he certainly did not agree with the part about being a dwarf.

Dwalin also thought it was a fine idea. “Aye, and we shall light a candle for _Margu Lukhûd_ this eve, and celebrate in the dwarven manner as well.”

There was a rapid succession of meal–presents–meal–presents–meal, surrounded with gleeful stories and warm words, and Legolas was certain he’d never eaten so much in any of his centuries of life. Particularly things fried in so much oil.

His stomach hurt, just as he’d predicted it would – but he said nothing, not wanting to be rude.

“And now, let’s light the candelabra.” Dwalin, long-since changed out of his red suit and back into his typical tunic and trousers, moved to Bilbo’s mantle.

It was a somewhat solemn tradition, partially a remembrance of the sacrifices of others, especially those who had fallen in battles with terrible odds. Yet it was also a reverent acknowledgment of the miracles bestowed upon them by Mahal.

In the end, Legolas was moved, finding the words Dwalin spoke of his dear brother Balin to be bittersweet.

He grasped Gimli’s hand tightly, suddenly feeling the weight of love for a mortal upon his shoulders.

And yet the moment soon passed when Bofur spoke to the couple after passing out the gifts of gold that he and Dwalin had brought to mark the occasion. “And what have you prepared for one another on this first day of Yuletide? I heard tell that Gimli prepared a gift for you. Dear Rosie gave her true love some vegetable seeds that Bilbo had procured for her.”

“Surely not a thrush in a mallorn tree!” Gimli chuckled. He patted Legolas’ hand, knowing the elf would have no idea about this hobbit tradition, reassuring him that he expected nothing.

Although he _had_ prepared something for his elf, lovingly crafted entirely with his own hands, and he presented it to him later that evening when they were alone in their room at a nearby inn.

“What is this, Gimli?” Legolas sat cross-legged on the bed, holding the – _what in Elbereth’s name was it?_ – in his hand, gazing at it curiously. “Some sort of weapon? It looks most expensive.” He waved the mithril column in the air, wielding it as he would his knives.

“Hmph!” Gimli chuckled, gazing at him intently. “Do you seriously not know? Or hazard a guess?”

Legolas, utterly confused, looked at it closely, running his hands over the smooth metal. He shrugged, at a loss, as the weapon hypothesis was obviously a false one.

Gimli walked over to the bed, running his hand down his elf’s torso, unlacing his tunic and running his lips over the treasured bare chest. Legolas nearly giggled, not entirely used to the feel of his dwarf’s beard on his body, but that thought was forgotten as he was pushed onto his back, his leggings pulled off impatiently.

“Am I to be your gift this eve? And you are unwrapping me as hastily as you can?”

“Aye, you could say that,” he growled, and captured his elf’s lips in a seering kiss, one that led all thoughts to flee from said elf's mind.

Then Gimli resumed his exploration of Legolas’ now-bare, oh-so-lovely body, reveling in the soft gasps and moans that escaped his lips, the elf not noticing that his hervenn had taken the gift of mithril and now held it in his large, calloused hand.

His face red, his breathing quickened, ever-louder, needful moans escaping him without care for whoever might be in the next room, Legolas lifted himself up on his elbows to gaze downward at the red-tressed head that was now slowly, decadently enjoying ever-deeper tastes of his sumptuous elfhood.

“Gimli,” he pleaded breathlessly, “This is unfair. You are fully dressed, I want to gaze upon you, see what is meant for my eyes alone, as I am meant for yours.” The dwarf had told him such enough times in the brief time they had been vowed that Legolas had come to treasure his possessiveness. 

“Nay,” he said with a smirk that could be barely seen under his beard. “You may unwrap me later. This is my gift for you, on the first day of Yuletide to my true love, as the hobbits' song goes.”

Gimli started humming the tune as Legolas felt the now-warmed mithril brush against him, and his eyes flew wide open when he felt it drift inside. 

“Gimli! What?....” 

And then the dwarf pushed some sort of button at the bottom of his gift, and the vibrations made Legolas lose his train of thought. All he could feel was pleasure flowing through him – the pleasure that his One True Love had so very effectively introduced him to - and continued to instruct him in.

“Aye,” Gimli mumbled victoriously. “Weapons and jewelry are not all I know how to craft.” And then his mouth enveloped his beloved once more, his beard and hair pooling around his elf's undulating hips, and Legolas truly lost all sense of space and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_ (dwarrow scholar)  
>  Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Hervenn = husband  
> Meleth-nin = my love  
> ****  
> Twelvety = 120  
> (Twelvety-twelve days of Yule = 12 days to celebrate, 120 extravagant meals to eat). NOTE: Yuletide was actually 6 days (2 Yule days, and then the 2 days before and after), but I've made it twelve here....


	2. Deck the halls....

“You’re too thin in the middle, elf!” Dwalin patted Legolas’ stomach as they stood in Bilbo’s sitting room, and then pulled at the extra red fabric in the belly area of Gandalf’s Father Yule suit. “Your stomach shows no sign of the five meals you’ve had today!”

“And you’ll need a beard. A gray or white beard.” Bilbo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then tapped his fingertip to his forehead. “Hmm, let me think, let me think….Frodo! Help me think of what we can use to give Legolas a Father Yule beard!” He hobbled off to find his nephew.

Bofur walked into the room then, smiling as he chewed most happily on one of the mince pies Bilbo had cooked specifically for him.

“Can’t wait until next meal, eh?” Dwalin chuckled at his friend’s appetite – though his seemed just as hearty as Bombur’s, Bofur weighed not nearly as much as his brother. “Yuletide Twelveses didn’t fill you up?” He looked to Legolas and chuckled. “If you’re going to fatten up to be Father Yule, take a cue from a dwarf!”

“Or a hobbit!” It was Merry, newly arrived at Bag End, happy to see Legolas partaking of their traditions.

“Hmph!” Grumbled a voice from behind him. “Gimli’s One as Father Yule, I have definitely seen everything now!” It was Dori, and he moved over to stand by Dwalin’s side, arms crossed over his chest as he inspected the elf’s costume. A swift nod and a pat on Legolas' arm was his sign of approval. “You’re looking well elf, I assume Gimli’s been treating you as the finest treasure he sees you to be?”

Legolas blushed slightly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Aye!” came another voice, this one definitively belonging to the elf’s hervenn. “Treasure does not come close to describing what he is to me.” Gimli greeted his Love with a kiss, and then stood back to observe Dwalin’s incomplete costuming of him.

“Harumph!” Dwalin picked up some pillows from Bilbo’s settee. “Let’s stuff these into your costume, fill it out a bit that way.”

“Nay!” Gimli roared as Dwalin moved to stuff the pillows inside. “Do not touch my elf in such a way!” Dwalin raised his hands, for Gimli was surely the most possessive of the Longbeards, who were known for their possessiveness – but stuffing pillows into a costume, knowing the elf was fully clothed underneath?

How things had changed since he’d first met this elf, this elf who’d insulted the drawing of his now-spouse. The spouse who would battle anyone who dared come near him, costume designers or not.

“Oh Gimli, I don’t think Dwalin was trying anything – he was just helping…” Gimli’s glare caught Merry’s words short, and the dwarrow moved to take Legolas to one of Bilbo’s side rooms, to stuff his belly with pillows in privacy. 

“Well?” Merry said, shrugging. “Dori and I haven’t had Yuletide Twelveses yet – are there leftovers?”

“Of course!” Bofur said merrily. “Come, I’m in the mood for more mince pie! One can never eat too much of Bilbo’s mince pie!”

The table was spread with all sorts of dishes – pies and cheeses and bread and more – with more dishes cooking for the soon-to-arrive Yuletide Luncheon, a grand affair that Bilbo and Bofur had began preparing prior to the sun’s rise.

“Mmm, it smells delicious.” Dori could never be in a grumbling mood around such delightful smells. “Ah! Potato cakes! Merry made some last eve, he’s not such a bad cook, do you know?”

“And I put mushroom sauce on them too. Delightful, if I must say!” Merry smiled proudly, happy that his houseguest was enjoying his stay.

“So where are Pippin, Bifur, and Nori?” Dwalin asked. “I thought you would arrive here together?”

Merry shook his head, his mouth overfull with food, food that he stuffed down with the help of Bilbo’s special Yuletide Ale. “They’re working on some sort of project for Bilbo. Not sure if they’ll be here today or not. They’ll surely show up before 1-Yule though!”

“More for us, then.” Dori dug into a cheese pie, helping himself to huge hunks of bread.

A few minutes later, Bilbo’s voice wafted through the room. “Good to see you, Dori, Merry!” Dori embraced the elderly hobbit, gazing at the puff of white he held in his hand. “Doilies for Yuletide luncheon?”

“Oh no,” Bilbo shook his head. “I’m going to crochet these together and make a beard for Legolas. It shouldn’t take too long.” Truth be told, he worried if his hands would be able to manage it, as it’d been awhile since he’d done any knitting or sewing.

Yet manage it he did, and by the time Yuletide Afternoon Tea was over, Legolas was dressed as Father Yule, complete with round belly and rather impressive white beard.

“Oh, oh, oh!” the elf said as he practiced, holding his stomach in an imitation of Dwalin’s performance yesterday.

Laughter burst out in the room, Legolas looking most offended at Dwalin’s chuckling comment, “Thinking of the pleasures of your dwarf, perhaps, my dear elf?”

“Not too worry, my love,” Gimli said, moving quickly to his side and rubbing his back. “It’s _ho, ho, ho_.”

Legolas frowned, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Aye, Master Elf, you are a fine Father Yule. Come with me, I will provide instruction.” Dwalin took him to Bilbo’s study, such that they could practice without an audience.

“Gimli, Merry – while Bofur and I cook, will you assist Dori with the outside decorations? There are not enough lights, far too little greenery for the marvelous Yuletide we have embarked upon!”

Merry and Gimli completed decorating the outside of Bag End – although both of them thought there wasn’t really much more room for additional decorating, but who were they to disappoint the hobbit who seemed to be enjoying this holiday even more than they would have expected?

Bilbo was delighted when he saw their handiwork, escorting Legolas out of the house to deliver the second day’s gifts to the little ones of Hobbiton.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Legolas said deeply and merrily, and Bilbo clapped his hands in near-glee.

“Come,” he said, hobbling on his cane, “Let’s go deliver gifts to the little ones, Sam has them gathered already for us, and I imagine he is telling them his grand stories of the Yule season!”

Sam knew every such story, for he was a veritable walking library of Yuletide tales.

The children were once more delighted with Bilbo’s gifts, delivered as they were by Father Yule, and Legolas was somewhat disappointed that it ended so soon.

“Not to worry, dear elf, I will let you have my turn tomorrow.” Dori slapped him on the back as they walked back to Bag End.

In Bilbo’s sitting room, Dori lit the second candle on the candelabra, pausing to say words in remembrance of his own dear brother Ori, recalling his love of fine arts and the triumphant words he had scribed in the beginning of the attempt to reclaim Khazad-Dûm. Then more gifts of gold were passed from the dwarves to the others gathered, followed by more feasting, this time a Yuletide Supper of a marvelous cooked turkey with various hobbit-traditional trimmings, mushroom salad and potatoes that had been whipped with butter, washed down with Bilbo’s special Yuletide Ale. And as a special treat, the dwarves’ Margu lukhûd fried dough balls with assorted delicious dips.

Then they retired to Bilbo’s sitting room, stomachs bursting and cheer in their hearts. “Now, let’s sing carols!” Bilbo said as he looked over to where Legolas sat on the floor, encircled in Gimli’s arms as he sat with his back to the dwarf’s chest. “Legolas! Would you be so kind as to finish hanging up the boughs of holly for me? I’d like the ceiling to be filled with them, and you can reach it far more easily than I!”

Legolas was only too happy to help, Gimli making himself useful by handing his elf the many boughs Bilbo and the others hadn’t had time to hang yet.

Bilbo went to his study, reverently pulling out a harp – Thorin’s golden harp, given to him by Dis amongst most of his other worldly possessions when she had realized how Bilbo cared for her brother as One.

It’d been several years since he had looked upon it, for as the years closed upon him he grew more worried that when he left this world for the next, he would have nothing to remind him of what could have been, traveling as he would to an entirely different beyond-death destination, and he’d rather avoid those thoughts entirely than feel sorrow that he could do nothing about. But somehow these Yuletide and Margu lukhûd celebrations had brought renewed faith to his heart, a sense of certainty that he should not assume that he knew what Mahal or Eru had planned for him beyond this life.

After all, was that not why he planned to travel to Valinor, to speak his heart to Thorin’s maker himself?

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo called. “Come! Everyone is ready! Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said, placing a merry expression on his face, one that Frodo saw through but decided to ignore, for now was not the time or place.

And so the hobbit joined the dwarves, his harp-playing nowhere near as skilled as the one who had played this instrument before him – but blending nicely nonetheless with the sounds of the flute, clarinet, and viol.

They played various carols – Eru Rest Ye Merry Hobbits and Hark! Now the Valar Sing, as well as a few of the dwarves’ favorites.

The merriment lasted until the wee hours, ending when Bilbo began falling asleep, and Gimli and Legolas returned to their room at the Inn, Dori spending the night in Frodo’s room, Bilbo's nephew and Merry retiring to Sam and Rosie’s current lodgings.

The vowed pair began undressing, Legolas still wearing his Father Yule costume, for he’d been surprisingly reluctant to take it off, enjoying playing the role more than he’d thought he would.

“Leave it on,” Gimli said firmly as Legolas moved to take off his faux beard.

The elf raised his eyebrows, wondering _why_.

Gimli ran his fingertips over the elf’s body, then moved his beloved’s hand to his wide, fully erect desire that stood amidst a veritable field of ginger-red curls. “Can you not tell how this beard of yours excites me?”

Legolas frowned, suddenly feeling inadequate – would Gimli truly prefer him more if he was a dwarf? Or the rare elf who had the ability to grow a beard, such as Cirdan?

“Ah, worry not, my elf.” Gimli knew exactly where Legolas’ thoughts had gone. “Surely there is something you would like me to pretend to be – something I am not?” He ran his lips lightly over the points of his elf’s ears, his hand caressing his hip, his slim, firmly muscled legs, his more narrow, hairless, yet equally hard need…”It is but a game, a game for you and I to enjoy…”

The dwarrow knew the instant his elf's thoughts moved from insecure ones to something else, some sort of game flashing through his mind. “What?” He said, pulling back to gaze at his beautiful, ever-youthful face intently. “Tell me.”

“’It's nothing,” Legolas whispered, a telltale blush returning to his ears.

“Hmm, would you have me dress as an elf, with only a bow of mallorn upon my back?” He returned to his explorations, kissing the slight yet firmly muscled chest. “Dress as a wizard, such that you can unrobe me?” The chuckle that was Legolas’ reply told him that was surely not it either. “Hold me prisoner in your father’s dungeon, and I can only free myself by winning your favor, firm, strict dungeon master that you are?”

The stirring of Legolas’ arousal told him that might just be it. “Aye, I am more than happy to play that game next time we visit your Adar’s realm. But for now, let’s open your gift.”

Legolas was prepared this time, knowing what to expect. Something for them to enjoy together. His heart began to beat even more rapidly, for if it was even half as delightful as the mithril column...

But when he opened the deep blue cloth that his gift was wrapped in, he realized he had guessed wrong.

Jewelry. Clip-on earrings and rings – or adjustable bracelets of some sort, for they seemed entirely too large for his fingers even at their smallest setting – and what must be a necklace of quite-large beads. They were beautiful, crafted once more from mithril, the rings dotted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds and the earrings gleaming with intricately carved, teardrop-shaped sapphires. 

“Gimli, they’re wonderful. I shall wear them tomorrow.” He moved to place the jewelry to the nightstand, hoping his hervenn might be inclined to bring out his previous night’s gift and repeat _that_ experience. His insecurity about the faux beard had entirely departed, now unexpectedly, strongly arousing, and his love and desire for his hervenn flowed through him more powerfully than an excess of miruvor or Dorwinion could.

“Ah, my elf, I should like to decorate you this eve.” He took the package from Legolas’ hand and began humming a hobbitish Yuletide tune, something or other about boughs of holly...

Legolas wasn’t surprised about the decorating – Gimli enjoyed seeing him dressed in gems, circlets, jewels, and other assorted fine craftings, and occasionally the elf dressed up in only that to surprise his dwarf, which always produced a fast, _most_ desirable reaction.

But when Gimli started placing the jewelry on Legolas' nude body, he was more shocked than he’d been last eve – the earrings ended up being clamped to his nipples, the rings placed around the base of his erect need, the beads moving – _inside_?

He was nearly overwhelmed, everything suddenly feeling as though it was almost too much, which Gimli quickly sensed, moving to capture his beloved's lips in a slow, leisurely kiss, caressing his face and his hair until his desire began to build again.

Many moments later Legolas was writhing on the bed, his ever-louder gasps and groans filling the room, the sweetly pleasurable tug on his nipples combining with the feel of the mithril balls inside of him and his dwarf taking him deep in his throat, sensations building beyond what he had ever felt before, for there was no release to be found due to the rings that encircled him, release that surely would have been found already otherwise. 

“Gimli,” he begged as his hervenn began pulling the beaded chain out of him, slowly, tantalizingly, “I cannot take it anymore, _please_ ….”

Gimli looked up from where he was firmly concentrating, his mouth encircling his beloved’s hardness - and he was utterly overtaken by his still-bearded elf with the sapphires dangling from his nipples, nearly spilling himself from the sight alone.

He could take no more either, and sat astride him, tightening the nipple clamps and tugging on the sapphires dangling from them as he relished the feel of his elf entering him.

Gimli rode Legolas long and hard, and after he’d found his own pleasure for the third time - much to Legolas' smug delight - he removed both the rings encircling his throbbing need and the remainder of the beads, and then slid his beloved elf inside once more, needing to feel Legolas come inside of him.

Gimli's One True Love came quickly, Legolas' release long-lasting and near-world shattering as many-times-magnified sensations engulfed him, leading him to float in explosive, wondrous bliss.

When he woke some time later, Gimli was gently running his fingers through his flaxen hair as he rested upon the dwarf’s firmly muscled, red-tressed chest, a slim arm and leg curled over his dwarf's broader body.

“I’m not certain I’ve ever seen you in reverie with your eyes closed before.” Gimli whispered, concern in his voice. “I am sorry, it seems that was indeed too much, too soon for you.”

Legolas looked up, entirely affronted. “Excuse me? Too much for a dwarf, perhaps, but not for an elf!”

He hoped in the back of his mind his challenge might be accepted – he dearly wanted to bring as much indescribable pleasure to his dwarf as had been brought unto him this eve.

And his wish was granted, for soon enough he was decking his dwarf in this newly-gifted holiday jewelry.

Though Gimli would argue forever after that he had won by default, for Legolas wasn't able to ride him nearly as long and hard, succumbing to his own repeated pleasure much more quickly and tiring much sooner - even if that wasn't exactly what they had argued about contesting in the first place.

Legolas had no qualms about ensuring sufficient rematches were performed over subsequent Yuletide seasons - though he would admit, if only to himself, that his dwarf's performance was, without question, beyond-remarkable, far exceeding any tales of fabled dwarven endurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzhul translations (dwarrow scholar)  
> Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
> Sindarin Translations  
> Hervenn = husband  
> meleth-nin = my love  
> ****  
> 1-Yule and 2-Yule are the Hobbit Yule days within the larger Yuletide season.


	3. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel....

“Your turn, Bilbo!” Dori put the dreidel into Bilbo’s hand, and the hobbit promptly set it spinning on the large Star of Durin set upon his dining room table.  This was by far the hobbit's favorite part of Margu Lukhûd - especially given how the game was going.

“Sullu!” Bilbo screamed excitedly when it stopped, pulling all of the gold accumulated thus far in this round to the ever-growing pile in front of him.

“Bah!” Dwalin growled. “Durin’s beard, you must be cheating! The last five rounds you’ve won…..are you and the elf in cahoots? Is Legolas controlling how it lands?”

It was a fondly-intended joke, and Legolas took it as such, using his free hand to take a sip of the spiced apple cider Merry had prepared, the other draped across Gimli’s shoulder.

Gimli glanced at the elf. “Hmph! I think not, for then surely my elf would not have lost every single round thus far!”

“Aye, but he could be sharing Bilbo’s winnings at the end – good way to put us off his trail.” Dori mumbled as he made his way through a finely decorated Gingerbread Hobbit cookie.

Legolas declined Bilbo’s offer of a similarly fashioned Yuletide cookie yet again, for while his stomach was full from the day’s meals, the more important reason was his reluctance to eat something remotely shaped like a hobbit, still not quite understanding why they fashioned cookies that vaguely looked like their kinsfolk.

“Jealousy, my friends, will get you nowhere,” Bilbo said victoriously, puffing out his chest and stacking his gold coins.

“Harumph! Let’s up the stakes, and add in the drinking part!” Dwalin stood to grab tankards and ale.

“I second that!” Merry said, and jumped to help him.

“Aye, have a good time, my friends. Legolas and I must get going.” Gimli put his coins into his pocket, readying to leave.

“Hmmmm, must you indeed, Father Yule?” Dori glanced at the couple, pausing in his own coin counting, smiling when he saw Legolas’ blushing ears.

“Indeed,” Legolas said as he contemplated what awaited him in their marital bed on this third night of Yueltide, bowing to those at the table with a flourish as he left, and then he and Gimli went back to their room at the Inn, appreciating the stars and the fine decorating that lit up Hobbiton as they went.

“Time to open my gift, my lovely One,” Gimli said some time later as he finished brushing Legolas’ hair following their bath, moving the silken mass out of the way to massage his bare shoulders.

“Hmm, first let’s play a game – you did offer, since I went along with yours last eve.”

“Aye, and you enjoyed it, so far as I recall!” Gimli kissed the top of Legolas’ head and moved to look at his face. “We don’t have much that could stand for a dungeon here in this room, but you could tie me up with some cloth, I suppose.”

Legolas shook his head in amusement. “No, that will wait until we can use the real dungeon rooms in Eryn Lasgalen. I have something else in mind.” He gave Gimli a kiss on the lips, then stood and moved over to his discarded clothes, Gimli greatly appreciating the view of his One's nude body as his curiosity mounted.

 _The dreidel?_ Gimli shook his head in fond appreciation - leave it to his competitive elf to perfect his technique in any sort of contest. “Aye, my elf, I will help you practice. And then you’ll take back everyone’s gold tomorrow evening, for as quickly as you learn things, surely we can empty their pockets!” Gimli shook his fists in the air victoriously.

“Come,” Legolas said, bringing the dreidel with him as he sat on the floor near the fireplace. “You spin first.”

Gimli sat across from him, pulling out the gold coins he'd won earlier to use for the game, giving half to Legolas and keeping the other half for himself, after he’d put two in between them to serve as the initial pot. “Are you certain you don’t want to sit on this rug with me?” He patted the space beside him, knowing Legolas preferred the cool wood underneath him, yet wanting to feel his elf close.

“No, I must concentrate to win, and you’ll surely distract me with tactics I wouldn’t even begin to imagine should I be within arms reach!” the elf laughed.

“Very well, if you are able to tolerate your hervenn being cold and lonely, so be it.” Gimli pouted as Legolas rolled his eyes, gesturing for him to spin the dreidel.

“Ah, amabbikhi!” Gimli said as it stopped, handing the carved wood to his husband. “Your turn.”

“Iydî it is.” Legolas said with a smirk.

“Aye, you rolled that all eve, I think. Come, put a coin into the pot.”

Legolas shook his head.

“Do you want a second turn?” Gimli shrugged, handing the dreidel back to Legolas once more.

“No. Iydî it is.” He said as he moved to pull something out of his pack, and then sat by Gimli’s side, pulling him into his arms.

Gimli raised a brow. “You want to cuddle? Would make it a bit hard to spin, don’t you think?” But he was happy that his elf realized that a cold and lonely dwarf was a grumpy dwarf, and he moved to caress him in turn.

“No, you silly dwarf, I’ve changed the rules. Don’t tell me you haven’t guessed as such?”

Gimli frowned, for once being the one who didn’t understand. _Elves_! But what happened next was not at all unwelcome, as Legolas’ hands ran down his back, his lips trailing soft, hot kisses down his neck and chest.

“ _What_ are you doing?” he asked half-heartedly, _not_ wanting it to stop, though he did wonder why the elf had decided to drop the dreidel game – _wait, Legolas was trying to distract him so that he’d win!_

“Iydî, Gimli! I could choose myself or you, and in the spirit of giving, I choose you.” And then he slid the mithril column inside Gimli, slowly, the dwarrow closing his eyes as he moaned at the sensation of being filled, the anticipation of feeling more….

“Your turn to spin.” Legolas said calmly, moving off his body and placing the dreidel in his hand.

“What?! You stop now?!” Gimli whispered, utterly frustrated, squirming a bit to try to regain some movement of the teasing mithril that was so still, so tantalizing within him.

“What do you mean, what? For once you are not up for a contest, dwarf?”

“Hmph! I most certainly am.” He moved up onto his arm to spin the dreidel. “Amabbikhi – so does that mean I get nothing or I give you nothing?”

“You do nothing.” Legolas said, taking his turn. “Amlâk. I take half.” He resumed his caresses of Gimli’s body, trailing his fingertips over Gimli’s wide, hard need, licking him once and savoring the tanginess, the earthiness of his beloved, reveling in Gimli’s deep groan and his fingers as they threaded through his hair. Then he slowly pulled the mithril column halfway out, ensuring it hit _just there_ when he did, watching the dwarf arch his back, hearing the _ahh, more, more_....Then for good measure Legolas maneuvered it in and out a few times, ever so slowly as he pushed Gimli's beard aside to run his lips over his dwarf’s red-tressed chest....and then he thrust with it a few times more for good measure, the column hitting _just there_ each time as he made entirely certain he’d placed it exactly halfway.

He was a warrior, after all, and accuracy was a most important goal.

Gimli moaned, rational thought gradually returning after Legolas stopped. “Your aim is true, my dear archer, but your last spin could be interpreted in a different way, you know,” he whispered in a desire-thick voice.

Legolas shook his head as he passed the dreidel to Gimli, knowing exactly what his hervenn meant. “I am not placing you halfway inside me, dear dwarf. Your turn.” He spoke as if they were playing a mere game of chess, and Gimli resolved then and there that he would _win_ , blasted elf and his teasing smugness!

Gimli spun. “Bah! Amabbikhi again! _Have_ you enchanted this dreidel?”

“Meleth-nin, you know that’s not possible.” He spun again. “Iydî. See? I am bound to roll that all night, I think.”

Gimli sighed in near-relief as he closed his eyes and relaxed back upon the rug, entirely ready to take the mithril column fully back inside, mounting desire leading him to discard his thoughts about winning this game via spins of the dreidel - for wasn't _this_ even better? 

He was not disappointed, for his elf knew exactly how to maneuver, _just so_ , and he was soon enough within a few strokes of finding release.

And then Legolas stopped, and Gimli chuckled again. “Ah,” he said in a husky voice, “You are beating me at my own game.”

“Spin, meleth-nin.” was all Legolas said as he sat back on one elbow, stroking himself languidly, and Gimli swatted his hand away. “You’re surely breaking some rule of yours there, my lovely elf!”

Legolas laughed. “I surely am. Well, come then, spin something so that you can fondle me, I do not want to stay untouched this entire game!”

Gimli gazed at his porcelain smoothness, his finely shaped body, his One. Entirely overcome with desire, he placed the dreidel _just so_. “Iydî!” and then he turned the dreidel over. “Sullu!”

“Gimli!” Legolas growled. “That’s cheating! You can’t have two turns, and you can't just place the dreidel how you want it to…..”

His words stopped as Gimli turned him on his hands and knees, Legolas shivering in delight as he realized what his beloved was about to do, feeling the blunt, broad tip of his dwarf against him. If _this_ was how Gimli cheated in games, he'd surely welcome it, for not only was he now the default dreidel winner, but surely _this_ provided bragging rights as well, Gimli caving first in his desire....Legolas pushed back, encouraging Gimli to take him, wanting, _needing_ to feel like he would nearly burst from sheathing his dwarf's huge bulk, and he wasn't disappointed when Gimli thrust and then withdrew fully, relishing the sensation of overflowing fullness. “Iydî!” Gimli groaned as he thrust inside again, watching himself as ever-so-slowly pulled out and then slammed inside once more, savoring the tightness of his elf. “Sullu! Take all of me, yes, just like that!”

Afterward, Legolas lay exhausted upon Gimli’s chest. “Gimli,” he whispered as he twirled ginger-red hair between his fingers, “When you’re ready to go again, I want a rematch, and _no cheating_ from you this time.”

Legolas hid his wide smile as he said it, finalizing in his mind how _he’d_ break the rules this time around – in a far more extravagant way that his dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_ (dwarrow scholar)  
> Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> amabbikhi = nothing  
> amlâk = half  
> sullu = all  
> iydî = put in  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Hervenn = husband  
> meleth-nin = my love


	4. O Yuletide Tree....

The insistent knocking at Bag End’s front door felt like it would split Bofur’s head in two. Or perhaps even more pieces than that. He groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “Isn’t someone going to get that?” he mumbled into the covers. Dori was in Frodo’s room, and surely that was closer to the front door.

 _Still_ no one got up. So he dragged himself out of bed, nearly stumbling down the hall, proudly chuckling to himself when he realized Merry and Frodo were passed out on the living room settees, Dwalin on a chair by the kitchen table, Dori and Bilbo fast asleep in their beds.

 _Victory was his!_ He couldn’t remember who’d been the last dwarf or hobbit standing during the drinking dreidel game, but being the first one awake had to count for something.

Bofur opened the door, the midday light blinding his eyes and making his head pound as though it was an anvil hit by a hammer.

“Sorry to trouble you, but it’s almost time for the tree-decorating ceremony.” Sam said apologetically, having heard from Gimli that the previous night in Bag End had likely been a long one filled with excessive imbibing. “The tree in the center of Hobbiton, the one we decorate each year. The one you’d crafted the star-topper for.”

Bofur began to nod his head in understanding, but it hurt too much, so he simply stood as still as possible. “Aye, I know that tree well. Ah, that was a good year.” He reminiscence was wistful, if only because back then he didn’t feel the effects of liquor as strongly the next day. Well, most of the time. There was that time he’d passed out in Laketown….

“Bofur?” Sam asked gently. “Are you alright? I can mix some herbs for you, Strider taught me a bunch of different things that might help you out, if you know what I mean.”

Bofur wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, but he knew how much this Yuletide tree meant to Bilbo – and assisting in today's celebrating meant working off the effects of the celebrating from the night before. “That sounds like a good idea, Sam. If you would, make enough for everyone?” He rubbed his head. “You missed out on a good get-together last eve, my dear hobbit, though at your age I imagine you wouldn’t feel it as strongly the next day as I do!”

“Oh, I’m not so certain about that,” Sam said as he glanced at Frodo and Merry, both uncharacteristically snoring on Bilbo’s settees. “Rosie wondered why they didn’t come back last night, though I reckon I knew it would be so before it even happened.”

And if he was honest, he hadn’t minded at all – it was nice to have the moments of privacy to spend with his beloved without feeling self-conscious about what Frodo or Merry might overhear.

Sam went to search the cupboard that he’d packed with herbs when he and Rosie had moved into Bag End to assist Frodo through his times of Ring-sickness and Morgul blade illness - they were only temporarily staying elsewhere while Bilbo was back in Hobbiton, primarily to assist with lodging of his dear friends from the Company.

Soon he had a tea brewing, one that he served to the ailing occupants of Bag End as soon as they had awoken at Bofur’s persistent shaking, most of them sitting miserably at Bilbo’s table with their heads in their hands. 

Dori took a swig of Sam’s tea, and promptly spit it out. “No offense, Samwise, but what foulness is this?” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and then looked for some water to swig.

“Why, it’s a special brew straight from the healing books of Strider – Aragorn, I mean. It’ll take care of your headache straight away, and settle your stomach.”

Merry nodded supportively, having downed his already, with his nose closed, of course. “It’s true – Pip and I find it a lifesaver, so to speak! I feel better already!”

“Hmph! Is that even possible for it to work so quickly, dear hobbit?” Dwalin asked with a frown, thinking about how the tea smelled like Smaug’s foul breath– and from Dori’s lingering expression, seemed to taste of warg dung.

“Drink up, drink up!” Bilbo hobbled into the dining room. “We’ve overslept, and not only are we behind on our Yuletide meals, but we must also prepare our decorations for Hobbiton's Yuletide Tree!" 

He began humming his hobbitish Yuletide tree song as he puttered around readying food and decorations.

And so the dwarves plugged their noses, following Merry’s lead, slurping the tea down – and true to Merry’s observation, felt almost instantly better.

“Impossible!” Bofur muttered as he smiled, putting an arm around Sam. “Tell me, Samwise, what other teas do you have up your sleeve? Do you have one that helps a good old dwarf win at Dreidel?”

“Well, I reckon nothing can assist with that, but let’s see…” Sam said, “I planted some seeds this fall that Aragorn gave me…”

They walked off to ready a portion of missed Yuletide meals to serve, leaving the others to pack decorations for the outdoor tree, an array of strings of berries and bird-seed packed Yuletide-shaped cookies that Elrond had taught Bilbo to bake years ago, all suitable for the Shire’s feathered friends – and, of course, the outdoor-hardy ornaments Bofur and the others had crafted over the years, primarily an assortment of silver bells with beautiful chimes that reminded each of Hobbiton's residents about the Yuletide season whenever a breeze blew.

And then there were the enchanted lanterns that Gandalf had forged over the years, ones that lit the tree delightfully, much as his other light creations had decorated Hobbiton in years past and would for many years to come, for he crafted them to be long-lasting.

After their quick meal they carried the boxes to Hobbiton’s traditional Yuletide tree, one that Sam had been delighted to see survive Sharkey’s ill will a year ago.

As they approached the Spruce, he was gladdened to see Rosie standing beside Gimli and Legolas, laughing at some sort of joke or tale that the dwarf was recounting, and briefly kissed her before going to assist Bilbo and the others with the start of the tree-decorating ceremony.

“My fine hobbits,” Bilbo said as he steadied himself on his walking stick, surveying the crowd before him, “Yuletide is upon us, and I am pleased to see most of you that I like, and few of you that I don’t! Come young ones, bring your parents, and set decorations upon the tree! Come one, come all, come decorate!" 

There were loud squeals of excitement, for the young hobbits loved the traditional decorating of this outdoor tree as much as the older ones.

“Aye, the hobbitlings are cute as ever,” Bofur whispered to Dori as they passed out wooden candy canes that he had carved, the hobbitlings decorating them as they pleased, to add to the other decorations that would quickly find their place upon the tree. “And when you have finished,” Bofur called in a much louder voice, “come over to us, for Father Yule would like to hear what extra-special gift you would like to receive on 2-Yule!”

Dwalin had resumed his role as red-suited harbinger of gifts galore, and sat on a special chair they had carved years ago just for today’s purpose, the hearing of lists of desired gifts. “Ho, ho, ho! Indeed! For if you have been good, you’ll receive a very special gift this year! And perhaps our elf will come stand by my side and help me keep your lists organized! Ho, ho, ho!” 

Legolas quirked an eyebrow, but moved to Dwalin’s side, happy to assist the joyous young ones in the recording of what they most wanted from Father Yule as they took turns sitting upon his red-robed knee, while Gimli assisted in passing out the day’s Yuletide gift.

As hobbits young and old partook of warm chocolate-flavored drinks, carols were sung, followed by Bilbo’s telling of a story of a small, sparse fir tree that he’d written especially for the day, this final tree-decorating ceremony he would participate in on Middle-Earth.

When the crowd began to disperse, the remnant Company and Fellowship walked back to Bag End to sit by the fire and partake of the Yuletide meals they had missed - and were now fully ready to catch up on.

“Shall we light the Oak Tree, Bilbo?” Dwalin asked after the daily Yuletide meal-presents-meal-presents-meal-presents tradition had been followed yet again, the Margu Lukhûd candelabra lit, and traditional dwarven gifts of gold presented.

“Certainly,” Bilbo began to rise, and the party moved to his – now technically Frodo, Sam, and Rosie’s – backyard.

Some distance back, they stopped at a majestic Oak Tree, and Bilbo, Dwalin, Dori, and Bofur each placed a lantern in its lower branches, reciting a solemn hymn in Khuzdul.

“Gimli,” Legolas leaned down to whisper at his beloved, his ears turning pink, “What are they saying?”

“A solemn tribute to those who have fallen. I will tell you the words later.” Gimli said to his One’s still-lowered ear. "Worry not, my sweet,” he said as he grasped his elf’s hand, “Soon it will be our turn.”

This very tree had called to Legolas when he and Gimli had arrived in Hobbiton, and the elf had convinced his dwarrow to accompany him amidst its relatively young, large branches, assuming the tree’s joyously beckoning song meant it wanted to share in their pleasure as a vowed couple.

Only when Legolas had been about to claim Gimli in the Oak's depths had he realized the Oak had begun to sing a song in tribute of remembrance, and when he told his dwarrow of it, Gimli had been mortified to think he’d been about to make love in Thorin Oakenshield's memorial tree.

Legolas, of course, hadn't entirely understood why it mattered, for surely celebrating Love for One in the most intimate of ways amidst boughs and branches was a tribute like no other? But he also knew his dwarf well enough to see that it might matter to _him_ , and matter it did.

Legolas knew better than to try to convince his One True Love that the tree would sing more happily than it ever had if they joined as one amidst its branches – for such was the way of flora.

But Gimli had no desire for _this_ tree to have _that_ memory of him. 

After hanging the lanterns, Dwalin spoke Mahal’s memorial prayer. Then Bilbo brought forth a piece of parchment that contained his recollections of Thorin, recollections that he read silently to himself near the lanterns as the others bowed their heads in mutual remembrance. Others then placed lanterns, including Gimli and Legolas in memory of Fili and Kili, Legolas’ thoughts traveling to what Tauriel might have thought of should she be standing here and remembering her own One dwarrow Love on this night.

It was a solemn and sorrowful ceremony, much more so than the remembrances they observed when lighting the nightly candle of Margu Lukhûd, yet there was joy in it as well, for not all remembrances are sad ones.

And then each thought of the good deed they would do upon the morn to balm the souls of those who had traveled to Mahal's Halls.

Gimli and Legolas stayed near the tree for a time as the others retired to Bag End for another Yuletide meal, while Sam and Rosie returned to their current lodgings. The gardener was most excited to give his day’s Yuletide gift to his sweetheart, a set of four golden messenger bird charms to add to those he’d already given her, for she dearly loved animals of all forms, including birds.

Sam was tired from the day’s events, ready to put his feet up and have another Yuletide snack after giving his Love her gift, but Rosie had other plans. She pushed him against the front door of their temporary hobbit hole as soon as he’d closed it, kissing him passionately as she nearly ripped off the buttons of his jacket.

Rosie was an amorous hobbit, her ardor fanned as soon as they'd married and she learned first-hand of the pleasures they could find in one another – but even that held no candle to her desires now, her loving lustiness as her pregnancy progressed.

Not that Sam minded, for he’d happily spend all day, every day, making love to her. He’d do anything for Rosie, anything at all, and pleasing her was one of his favorite tasks.

From what little he’d known prior to their babe's conception, he would have thought she’d just want to have her feet massaged and back rubbed at this stage. Bearing a child wasn’t an easy task, and given his well-honed empathy, he didn’t mind whatsoever that there would be a span of time that was free of intimate sharing – but it hadn’t happened yet. Even Rosie was surprised that despite her fatigue, she just couldn’t get enough of her Love, especially given how he spoiled her with such dear dedication.

Somehow she stripped them both of their clothes, pulling him down on the floor by the front door.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly, “What if Frodo comes in? I’m not sure how he’d react to seeing us….”

She giggled. “Maybe he’d enjoy seeing it.”

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything more, she was pulling herself off the floor as best she could. “You’re right, but even more so because this will quickly become uncomfortable for me. Come, let’s go to bed.”

The journey to said bed may have taken an Age, given that Rosie stopped her husband to kiss with each step they took, fondling him as he fondled her.

“Just have me here, Sam, beside the Yuletide tree,” she said breathlessly when they hadn’t even made it past the sitting room, turning around to brace herself against the wall beside the decorated greenery, her hands splayed above her, the rest of her beauty brazenly presented to him.

His sensible side said _no_ – the front door wasn’t locked, after all, and Frodo or Merry could come back at any time – but somehow coming with her, here, seemed so much more important as his now-seemingly-insatiable lust answered hers.

He trailed a hand down her swollen belly, then further down, touching her inside and out with his fingers until she was sighing and moaning, wiggling back as she demanded _more_ without saying a single word.

He positioned her hips just so, and thrust into her softness, nearly losing himself in her sweet wetness, and he had to pause to regain control. He caressed her belly once more, then groaned as he cupped his hands over her swollen breasts, gently running his fingers over her so-sensitive nipples.

She wiggled back again, impatient for more, trying to grab his hip and make him _move_.

He did, and she closed her eyes in delight – he was careful, gentle, knowing how sensitive she was now, but somehow he rode her hard all the same, stroking her with one hand as he held her breast with the other.

He wanted to bring her pleasure several times – something he often succeeded at – but when she came, he was too excited by her lusciousness and the strange excitement of potentially being discovered, and he came just as hard as she did.

They stood there until they calmed enough to move, and then walked – _finally_ – to their bed.

“You should clean that up,” she giggled, glancing down at what had dripped onto the floor. “I would, but I’m not certain I could bend over!”

Sam shelved that thought for later – how he’d bend her over tomorrow, which he knew she’d relish if he sufficiently saw to her comfort – and they went to snuggle in bed.

Legolas and Gimli walked by the hobbit hole as the pair found their release, the tall blond smiling as he heard their sounds with his above average hearing, his dwarf realizing straight away what he’d heard based on the blush that covered his ears.

“I gather they celebrate Yuletide as well, based upon the look on your face,” Gimli said fondly.

Legolas looked down at his feet as the walked, and then glanced over to his beloved. “I highly doubt they've been exchanging the same type of Yuletide gifts as you’ve crafted, at least based on what I've heard thus far.”

Gimli nodded, smiling, noting that he prided himself on being unique as he led Legolas into the woods near Hobbiton.

“Where are we going?” Legolas asked with eager anticipation, _hoping_ it might be what he envisioned, a repeat attempt to love his One in a tree, this time not aborted due to memorials.

Legolas wasn't disappointed. They climbed high among the soft needles of an old fir tree, one that spoke of many Yuletides past, one that had witnessed the more recent Margu lukhûd celebrations that had been brought to Hobbiton by Mahal’s folk.

Legolas didn;t need to help his dwarf climb, for Gimli had previously placed strategic pieces of wood to serve as a makeshift ladder along the trunk of the tree.

When they neared the top, Legolas clapped his hands in glee, for there was a glorious dwarven creation fastened into a sturdy branch – a swing! He settled into it straight away, gazing at the stars, enjoying how it provided a good view of the night sky while being so well hidden from potential ground-level view.

“Gimli, this is a wondrous gift. Such a fantastic idea, I wish I had thought of this earlier in my life, for I would have installed one in each of my favored trees!” He sighed happily as he swayed slowly back and forth.

“Hmph, I would hope not, my dear elf!” Gimli said with a stern look, and Legolas realized there was something else afoot. Something that would lead his dear One to be jealous.

Only one thing, _truly_ , led to that.

“Gimli,” he whispered, having an inkling of the answer before he even asked his question, yet knowing he likely didn’t completely understand what was afoot. “What is your purpose with this gift?”

Gimli said nothing, simply removing his clothing as he braced himself on the strong, wide branch of the fir tree, any worry about falling pushed to the side as his groin throbbed, for this was a fantasy he’d wanted to see to fruition ever since he’d fallen in love with this archer in Lothlórien. 

Even now, somehow, he couldn't quite believe that this was _real_.

He gazed hungrily at his beloved, the pure need in his eyes clearly telling the Prince what would come next – and Legolas wriggled himself seductively, shaking the dwarrow out of his daydreams.

Gimli nearly ripped his elf's leggings off as he firmly repositioned his body, Legolas' feet now ensconced in the straps dangling from the swing. And then without further ado, Gimli ensconced himself in his elf, his drawn-out groan matching Legolas’ long sigh as he drove himself further than he’d ever been before into his slightly-too-tight, impossibly hot Love.

Legolas was incredibly flexible, as any wood-elf warrior would be, but this tried-and-true dwarven invention – likely hanging for the first time within a tree, instead of from the stone ceiling of a mountain or cave - stretched the elf beyond the limits of imagination, and he came quickly and hard as he nearly dangled upside down.

Swaying in the swing with such heightened pleasure led him to feel more of a communion with a tree than he'd ever had before, and Gimli could not resist the wanton sight before him, turning the swing to drive himself down Legolas’ welcoming throat. 

They stayed in the tree all night – there were uncountable positions to explore, after all, and both of them knew of the importance of well-documented adventures – and the tree sang happily when it spotted their return in later days, previous Yuletide gifts accompanying them.

The union of such in-love creatures within it’s cradling bough made the fir truly experience the indescribable joy of the Yuletide season, the now-symbol of Love happy to bring such pleasure to this wood-elf and his earthy companion.

The fir would spread Yuletide cheer for as long as it lived, and its descendants would as well, the unchanging memory of Yuletide joy carried through generations until Arda was unmade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_ (dwarrow scholar)  
>  Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights


	5. Gelt

“I’m exhausted, Gimli.” Legolas laid back on their bed in the Inn, surprisingly tired from the day’s events. It’d been a long day of chocolate-making, the fashioning of so many chocolate coins embossed with Durin’s Star - and others with the Star of Bofur's forefather - a task that the archer found surprisingly difficult and taxing.

“Aye, perhaps you aren’t meant for forging, be it chocolates or something else.” Gimli stood in front of the table on the other side of the room, wrapped in a towel, unable to rid his hair of the chocolate smell even though Legolas had washed it with a mint shampoo Bilbo had gifted him.

But he didn’t mind – the gelt had brought joy to the little ones of Hobbiton, delighted to play Dreidel with Bofur and the others using the chocolate coins they’d received. Gelt was such a central feature of Margu Lukhûd that it brought back many delightful memories of his childhood. Even when he and his kin had virtually nothing, gelt was crafted each holiday season, even more precious in those nonprosperous times.

Legolas stretched his legs, repositioning his robe to try to attract the attention of his Love, who seemed to be completely absorbed with whatever task he was completing – likely his fifth Yuletide gift, Legolas knew.

“There!” Gimli said excitedly, walking towards the bed with a gift wrapped in glimmering gold paper.

“More gelt?” Legolas remarked with a smile as he gazed upon the box he had just opened. “Did you make these while Bofur and I were trying to dig ourselves out of that mess of edible gold dust that we made?”

“Aye, though these are not gelt, they are simply chocolates dusted with gold leaf, although I had started them some days before, as the process for crafting these is long and detailed. I had Sam help with the finishing touches, thought he might like to get a taste of dwarven ingenuity!”

“Surely so,” Legolas chuckled. “And tell me, what makes these so ingenious?” Given the gifts provided to him thus far during these twelve days of Yuletide, the elf wondered what sort of effect eating one would have upon him.

“Shall we try one and you can find out?” Gimli wasn’t entirely certain if the effect upon an elf might be different than it was for a dwarf, but he was most excited to try.

Legolas picked one of the star-shaped ones, gilded in edible gold leaf with runes that he could not read, popping it in his mouth and swallowing nearly instantly as Gimli shouted “No!”

The archer looked surprised, and then frowned. “But you wanted me to try one.”

“Aye, but they are potent.” He rubbed his head nervously. If a dwarf had ingested a whole star-shaped chocolate at once….

Legolas shrugged, not feeling any differently than he had prior to eating the chocolate. He yawned, cuddling up to his hervenn. “Perhaps tomorrow we can take a side trip to visit Pippin, Bifur, and Nori – see how their project is coming along.” He was enjoying Yuletide in Hobbiton, but in all honesty couldn’t stomach another meal – if he could have his way, he might go a few months without eating another morsel, though he imagined Gimli would frown upon such a thing.

Legolas fell into reverie soon after, Gimli surprised about the lack of effect the piece of chocolate had upon his elf, its concentrated properties apparently negligible for this sprite of the forest.

The dwarf was awakened from his comfortable sleep some time later, his elf crouched between his legs, a near-feral look in his eyes as he looked up from taking him deep into his throat. “Meleth-nin,” he moaned as he licked his shaft, “I could eat you alive, I truly could,” and then took him deeply once more.

It wasn’t long until Gimli spilled himself in Legolas’ mouth, the elf savoring every drop – but when the ginger-haired dwarf tried to reciprocate, he was swatted away. Legolas fondled him to hardness once more, sucking and tasting his huge dwarfhood as though it was as delicious as mushrooms were to the hobbits of the Shire, his seed as savory as the eggnog Bilbo had served them that evening.

 _This was completely unexpected_ , Gimli thought – for it truly was. The effect was entirely different than it would be for a dwarf. And then there was another matter - upon his very first taste when they had vowed, Legolas had no inherent fond love for his hervenn's bitter liquid earthiness, though over time his enjoyment of it grew substantially, for he knew his partaking of it ratcheted his dwarf's lust, and in turn his own. But it was never remotely close to _this_ \- now the archer drank his beloved's tart milkiness as though it was the Nectar of the Valar, licking every last drop from his lips and fingers and from Gimli’s broad, delectable tip, inhaling his stone-scented muskiness as though he was utterly intoxicated by the scent.

Dwarves were built to last, not built for fast release, yet by the third time he came it was obvious that the chocolate had the unintended effect of giving Legolas a never-ending thirst for his seed, his ravenous hunger coaxing his hervenn to come more frequently and with such speed he worried, for the first time ever, that his cock might not last the night.

But last it did, and Legolas couldn’t get enough, in some respects incorrect in his previous musings about fullness and not wanting to eat for months.

“Gimli,” Legolas said the next morning as he laid his golden head upon his dwarf’s ginger-haired chest, returned to his typical state as he twirled the hairs of his hervenn's beard, “What happens if I eat one of the heart-shaped ones?”

Gimli slowly cracked open an eyelid, so exhausted he could barely move, for his dear One had drank his release more times than there were days in the hobbit’s Yuletide celebration. “I think I may need to wait until next Margu Lukhûd to find out,” and he closed his eye again.

He was too tired to open them again when he heard the chuckle beside him, but he knew the implication – that his elf now thought he’d won at some sort of unintended contest, and he decided that once he woke, he’d try to even out the score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_ (dwarrow scholar)  
>  Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Hervenn = husband  
> meleth-nin = my love


	6. Jingle bells, jingle bells.....

“Oooooooh, look!” Samwise’s little hobbitling cousin, three times removed, squealed as she held his hand and pointed towards the eastern edge of Hobbiton. “It must be Father Yule again, but this time pulled by _reindeer_! Just like in Bilbo’s story!”

Sam squinted – the approaching party was still a bit far away. “Hmmm, that looks bigger than reindeer – it looks more like….. _elk_?” He squinted some more, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him.

Then he heard an “Adar!” from behind him, Legolas rushing past, Gimli stomping happily some distance behind, both most excited to see Hobbiton's newest arrivals.

An elk-driven sleigh it certainly was, Thranduil entering Hobbiton with regal flair, Glóin and his wife Nuris by the Elvenking’s side in the plush, beautifully crafted sled.

“But how does it ride on the ground without snow?” Sam’s little cousin asked curiously, and tugged his hand for him to follow her to meet the newcomers.

A growing crowd had begun to gather around the visitors, Hobbiton’s residents marveling at the sled that had glided effortlessly along, several of the more curious ones peeking underneath it to see what sort of mechanism was at play – but there was nothing obvious to be seen.

“Can I ride in it?” a hobbitling yelled, for sleighs typically only saw use on snow, and it was always guaranteed to be a _fun_ ride.

“No, me, me!”

The clammering continued until Thranduil swept out of the sleigh, assisting his counterparts in exiting, for his sleigh was tall and wasn’t an easy thing for someone shorter than an elf to enter or exit. The trio exchanged fond hugs with their still-surprised sons, Legolas and Gimli welcoming these unexpected Yuletide guests.

“Little ones,” the Elvenking then said in his voice that was both haughty and kind, “Certainly you may ride, but let’s take turns, line up in a straight line, starting here…”

None of said little ones listened, now too enthralled by the elk that had pulled the trio to the Shire, staring at them as though they’d never seen such a thing before. “Sam says they’re not reindeer, but they are! Just like in the story, the reindeer pulling Father Yule’s sleigh! Make it fly, oh please!”

Sam's cousin tugged at Thranduil’s fine golden-silver robe, the Elvenking gracefully crouching down to her level, admiring her adorably curly hair. “Father Yule,” she said, “Where is the reindeer with the red nose? The one with the light, that helps you see at night? And why did you shave off your beard? And how did your hair get so pretty?” She'd quite liked the hair Father Yule had before - but this hair was glowing and beautiful, almost like gemstones.

“Ah…” Thranduil said, unsure what to say, for he knew little of the hobbit’s Yuletide traditions, the extent of his knowledge culminating in his creation of a seasonal crown of spruce and holly – but Glóin placed a hand upon his shoulder, coming to his rescue. He’d been to Yuletide in the Shire once before, and knew of what this child spoke of.

“Harumph! This is not Father Yule, little one, this is the King of the Woodland realm! He’s an elf! And these are his elk! And this is his magical sleigh!”

“Oooooh!” she said. Dwarves in Hobbiton weren’t that unusual, as they visited Bilbo from time to time, but the only elf she’d ever seen was Legolas – and now there was another!

No wonder he didn't have a beard!

She placed a timid hand on Thranduil’s crown, the Elvenking still crouched elegantly before her. “Can you make me one too, Mister Elf?”

Legolas smiled as he moved to stand by his Adar. “He may be tired from his journey – I can make one for you, if you like.”

“Aye! Elf crowns for all!” Gimli said, chuckling, “A new Yuletide tradition!”

An hour later, some of the children of Hobbiton wore adorable crowns modeled after the Elvenking’s – although others chose head coverings in the tradition of Margu Lukhûd, and still others wanted long red stocking hats with white trim, just like Father Yule’s. Bilbo’s kin and friends found themselves unexpectedly busy with this crafting, but the making and the end result were jolly and merry.

Bilbo found the best part of the sixth day of Yuletide – aside from the Yuletide meals, delicious offerings cooked primarily by Bofur – was when Thranduil allowed him to hang an array of jingle bells on his marvelous sleigh. The tinkling of the bells rang through Hobbiton as the Elvenking and his elk took Hobbiton's children on rides.

That evening, Gimli sat on a bench outside of Bag End, looking tired and worn as he smoked his pipe and drank the eggnog Merry had poured for him, declining the Dorwinion that Thranduil had brought and the others were now partaking of, the sounds of their merry cheer only slightly muted from where he sat.

“I reckon you’ve seen better days,” Sam said kindly as he sat beside his friend. “Yuletide seems to be catching up with you, it seems.”

“Hmph! My elf is catching up with me,” he muttered under his breath, and then turned his head to gaze at Sam. “Tell me, did you try out a piece of the chocolate we had crafted yesterday?”

Sam blushed. “Yes, but only a piece – I reckon it wasn’t quite enough, that hobbits must react differently to it than dwarves, so I plan on trying two pieces tonight.”

Hobbits reacting differently indeed – what about elves! “Let me guess, you tried one of the star-shaped ones.”

Sam crinkled his forehead. “I did – how did you know?”

Gimli shook his head, sipping his drink. “Just a lucky guess, I suppose,” now a bit curious about what would occur if the hobbit ate one of the heart-shaped chocolates – though he still didn’t dare test it out on his elf, for he was far too tired.

Perhaps even too tired and worn to seek pleasure with his One tonight, and he grew uncharacteristically nervous when he thought of telling Legolas that, even though he knew his elf would be caring and supportive.

“Meleth-nin! Sam!” The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen called from where he stood inside Bilbo’s front door. “Adar, Adad, and Amad are telling the most humorous stories of their trip here!” Legolas was still amazed at how well the Elvenking was getting along with Gimli’s parents. It was a relationship that had begun blossoming when all three had been told of their sons' engagement, deciding to make the best of what initially seemed a strange, somehow unwelcome situation – an opinion that swiftly changed.

“And everyone’s had too much of the Dorwinion that Adar brought with him – you should see Dwalin, he’s dancing on Bilbo’s table with Bofur and Merry!” At that, Sam got up to go inside, curious to see what was going on, but Gimli simply rubbed his head.

“Meleth-nin, are you feeling ill?” Legolas sat beside him, concerned.

“Nay, I am simply fatigued…”

“From last eve,” Legolas interrupted knowingly as he grabbed his hand and smiled sympathetically. “That chocolate – I’m not sure what came over me. But I know it was a bit overwhelming. Do you want to take a break? Go for a ride in Adar’s sleigh?”

 _Why not_ , Gimli thought – it would certainly be better than riding one of his Adar-in-law's elk! “Aye, but do not think I wouldn’t do it again – I am no fragile vine that must be treated carefully!”

“No, you most certainly are not. Come,” Legolas stood and pulled his beloved up. “Let’s go find Arod, and see if he’s willing to pull it for us.”

They went to their Inn, Arod happy to oblige – and Gimli had a sudden idea, grabbing the gift he’d planned to give Legolas on the eleventh day of Yuletide.

Soon they were riding in Thranduil’s sleigh, the still-attached bells providing an accompanying jingle that both of them found enjoyably festive.

“You need to tell me how your Adar makes this sleigh glide without snow.” Gimli said as they rode further away from Hobbiton, seeking peace and quiet as they journeyed under the stars.

“I’m actually not certain – we could ask him when we return?” Legolas said, his arm drawing his One even closer to him, pulling Thranduil's silk blanket over the two of them - the elf wasn't cold, but it was a cozy touch.

After some time passed, Gimli felt a bit renewed. He passed his beloved his Yuletide gift, Legolas wondering what might be inside this time. “It can wait, meleth-nin,” he said as he paused before unwrapping it. “I know you’re not entirely in the mood.” He couldn’t help a slight grin, both in remembrance of the incredibly strange hunger that had overcome him, as well as his pride in tiring out his dwarf.

“Hmph! Let’s see who gets more tired! Open it, my elf.”

Legolas’ eyes went wide when he did, his mouth slightly dropping open as he turned his gift this way and that. “Gimli,” he whispered, “Is this what I think it is?”

“Aye, using this will feel just as though I am sitting on your lap, riding you.” He began undoing Legolas’ leggings, his fatigue now entirely leaving him as excited desire began to take its place.

When crafting this gift in particular a few months ago, he’d had vivid fantasies about his elf using it – and he’d needed to take several breaks during said crafting, seeking out his elf to relieve his rock hard need.

Gimli poured a special lubricant that smelled faintly of pine on Legolas’ growing shaft, the archer feeling embarrassed that he wanted to see his dwarf use this tool on him – especially given that they were in his Adar’s sleigh, bells merrily jingling, although no others were in sight or sound range.

The gift looked somewhat strange, the closest resemblance to his dwarf being the painstakingly crafted puckered entrance – and it felt strange in Legolas’ hand, the material firm yet obviously not metal.

“Let me,” Gimli said, taking it from his elf. “Sit back, relax, enjoy the ride.” He lowered his gift to touch Legolas’ blunt tip, his other hand fondling his beloved.

Legolas closed his eyes and leaned backwards when Gimli began lowering this unexpected tool, a long groan escaping his lips. It was tight, so very tight, and the inside was warm and wet, just like his dwarf felt when he’d been well-oiled. His breathing quickened, his heart nearly leaping from his chest as he was fully sheathed within it, and when Gimli pushed a hidden button on its side, Legolas had no words to describe how good the massaging of the tool's inside walls felt.

He began rocking his hips as Gimli captured his lips in a ravenous kiss, his movements soon near-reckless in passionate abandon as the now so-familiar coiling pressure built in his groin, and he came faster than Gimli had in his own initial orgasm the night before, moaning his hervenn's name as he spilled within Gimli's gift.

For some moments they just sat there, Legolas cuddling against Gimli's chest while he waited for his heart and breath to calm, the only other sounds the jingling of bells and clatter of Arod's hooves.

"Now I understand why riding over fields in a one-horse open sleigh is such fun," Legolas whispered, and Gimli couldn't resist giving him a long, tender kiss.

“Let’s head back to our room,” Gimli said after pulling away to gaze lovingly at his elf's timeless face.

“Oh, alright.” Legolas was slightly disappointed – he wanted to try this wonderful contraption again, and being outdoors, in this sleigh with its musical tones was simply perfect, somehow.

“Worry not, my elf – we shall see how many times I can bring you to pleasure with this gift. Nay, I simply want to grab those clamps I made for you, and attach bells to them – so that you’re as festively decorated as the sleigh we will continue to ride in. For in your pleasure you nearly glow in the darkness, and surely such beauty should be complemented by the equally lovely jingling of bells, here..." and he bent his head to begin fondling Legolas' nipples with his teasing tongue and far-too-skilled fingers.

Legolas had grown hard at the thought, and impossibly harder with these new caresses.

In front of them, Arod held back a snort. He’d much rather be spending time elsewhere than listening to these two carrying on – perhaps he’d even rather choose to spend time with those haughty elk that had come into town.

But it was Yuletide and Margu Lukhûd, after all, and he did care a lot about the mismatched-yet-perfectly-matched creatures in the sleigh that he pulled, so he went along with it, thinking of it as his gift to them.

And, he thought wistfully in the back of his mind, perhaps the light-haired one who could speak with him could find him One of his own to love.

Yes, he’d ask him on the morrow. Because right now, it sounded like those two were at it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_  
>  Adad = father  
> Amad = mother  
> Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Adar = father  
> Hervenn = husband  
> meleth-nin = my love


	7. Ghosts of Margu Lukhûd past, present, and yet to come

“Uncle Bilbo, are there any more dishes you need me to wash?” Frodo stood near the kitchen sink, drying his hands.

“Hmmm?” Bilbo asked, leaning on his walking stick near one of Bag End’s windows, gazing out into the darkness beyond. It’d been yet another successful day of Yuletide festivities, Thranduil providing more sleigh rides for Hobbiton’s young ones, a welcome repeat of yesterday’s favorite activity. Combined with more games of dreidel and the sharing of tales, food, and cheer, the seventh day of Yuletide had been a most satisfying one.

Now Hobbiton’s welcome guests were caroling from hobbit hole to hobbit hole, led by Sam, Rose, Merry, and Pippin. The elderly hobbit would have wagered his share of Smaug’s hoard that he’d never see the day that the King of the Woodland realm would stand arm in arm with Glóin – but stand they did, their sons flanking them as they sang the Shire’s traditional holiday melodies and Erebor’s lively seasonal tunes, accompanied by the instruments of the remaining members of the Company.

Bilbo had stayed behind after they'd delivered their inaugural songs at his doorstep, exhaustion seeping through his bones, though he hid it well.

His fatigue wasn’t the result of his age catching up with him in the veritable blizzard of activity over the past week – he’d paced himself well, and generally felt invigorated by the celebration.

No, his strange malaise had a different probable cause – the gift that Nori, Bifur, and Pippin had worked on in Pippin’s home and delivered with a flourish this morning, the seventh day of Yuletide and, coincidentally this year, the seventh and final day of Margu Lukhûd.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked again. “Are you feeling well?”

“Oh yes, dear Frodo,” he said with a smile and a pat on his nephew’s shoulder. “Go, join our friends. I’d like to have some time to enjoy the memories of Bag End.”

Frodo gave him a hug, then went to find the others, easy to locate given the joyous, loud song that drifted his way, this Yuletide season succeeding in freeing him from pain, if only temporarily.

Bilbo sat down in Bag End’s sitting room, near the fireplace that kept the room nicely warm, the fully lit candles of the Margu Lukhûd candelabra providing additional light.

He pulled out the grand gift that Bifur, Nori, and Pippin had provided to him – a tome with a magnificent cover of mithril, intricate patterns covering the front and back – and a collection of finely detailed drawings within.

The gift was truly given by more than the trio who'd handed it to him. Although they'd spent time in painstaking crafting of the cover and in the addition of some of their own pictures, much of what was bound within was the product of others’ hands – primarily Thorin’s Amad and his sister, Dis.

One sketch in particular depicted Thorin Oakenshield with an expression so well-matched to Bilbo’s memory that his heart ached.

It wasn’t the absent sketches – the drawings of what would never be - that made him feel listless. No, it was his recollection of the first Yuletide that had passed after the Battle of Five Armies, prior to his return to Bag End with Gandalf, and his accompanying realization of all he'd wished he'd said but hadn’t.

Of his hatred of the Arkenstone and the dragon’s cursed horde of treasure, both of which were destined to impart some degree of madness in the hearts and minds of any in their vicinity. He knew now that both spoke to him much as the Ring had….and while hobbits were less vulnerable to such thrall, he knew better than any that they weren’t invulnerable.

Yet what always weighed most on his mind were Thorin’s final words: _If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world._

Words that made him doubt his plan, his desire to seek Mahal in the Undying Lands and ask for passage to see Thorin once more.

Yet these pictures brought to mind every single reason he had that goal - for how could he not seek One so beloved, One who was lost too soon?

Surely if there was a final journey to undertake it would be that?

And so, on this final day of Margu Lukhûd, Bilbo Baggins fell asleep by the fireplace after flipping through his precious tome - and his memories - his priceless gift on his lap and bittersweet memories in his heart.

He was awakened with a start, wondering if he still dreamt or truly was seeing what he now gazed upon – a trio of dwarves, one dressed on white, slight and gentle; one larger than Bombur, boisterous and and eating merrily; the final one the most imposing dwarf he’d ever laid eyes upon, bearing a commanding, near-indescribable presence.

He knew this must be a dream.

“Bilbo Baggins,” the imposing dwarf’s voice boomed, “Do not let melancholy encroach upon your heart. Behold! Revel in that which has been given to you, particularly in the enjoyment of those you hold dear. You have been courageous enough to celebrate what is, not mourn what would be. And yet that we shall show you!”

What came next part was most strange - it was as though he flew from picture to picture, event to event, the drawings in his new book vividly brought to life. He saw a young Thorin celebrating many a Margu Lukhûd Under the Mountain; he saw him driven from his home by Smaug, and the Margu Lukhûd that year when they had nothing. He saw Thorin work in the Blue Mountains, he and his kin forging precious gelt and partaking of the festival of lights with song and cheer, for even in hard times there was much to be found in the comfort of kin. He saw Margu Lukhûd celebrations in Erebor, of Bombur in his bed, games of dreidel and giving of gelt across the entire Mountain, a place that was not so lonely, especially during this season.

Yet amongst all of his travels that night, a singular scene stood out most, a vision of a glorious hall that he could not place – a setting so enormous that it was hardly a hall, or even a set of halls.

Candles were lit in a celebration of Margu Lukhûd that he knew - somehow he knew - had not yet been.

And intermingling with one another were creatures of differing race, one table in particular drawing his attention as he gazed upon solid-yet-not-solid forms, old-yet-young beings who lowered their heads in deference to an illuminated pair standing nearby. The latter he wondered if they might be - perhaps he knew that they were - Mandos and Aulë.

And when the deferentially bowed heads at the table rose, he recognized many – Thorin, Kili, Fili, Ori, Balin.....Bofur was there, as was Dwalin. Glóin.....and Gimli.

And himself. Frodo. And Legolas. And others that he knew, and loved - and some that he did not.

And he saw Thorin rise, and take his hand, and lead his old-yet-young, nonsolid-yet-firm, body-that-was-not-a-body away.

And as the morning light dawned, his heart grew light once more, for while his faith was different than the One he loved, perhaps it didn’t mean that his next destination must be as well.

Perhaps beliefs about the journey beyond this one were just that. 

“Gimli,” Legolas said across Hobbiton in the room at the Inn he shared with his hervenn, shaking his beloved awake, both of them well-tired from exquisite use of the dwarf’s seventh Yuletide gift, “I had the most odd travels in reverie.”

“Hmmm,” Gimli whispered, his own mind still wrapped in his own dreamscapes, his heart warm and his being only half awake.

Legolas stared for some time at his One, unwilling to attempt to rouse him further, for he looked content and at peace.

It could wait, his telling of this strange journey he had taken through reverie, this observation of so many dwarves celebrating Margu Lukhûd in so many different places, including the inexplicable ending...

After all, perhaps, just perhaps, they had eternity together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzhul translations_  
>  Amad = mother  
> Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Hervenn = husband  
> 


	8. 'Twas the night before 1-Yule, when all through the Shire....

'Twas the night before 1-Yule, and if across the Shire we look,  
Not a hobbit or elf or dwarf was stirring, not even Pippin Took;  
Everyone's stockings were hung by the chimney with care,  
In hopes that Father Yule soon would be there;  
  
The hobbitlings were nestled all snug in their beds,  
While visions of honey cake danced in their heads;  
The dwarves of the Company, and I in my cap,  
Had just settled down for a long post-Yuletide-meal nap,  
  
When out in my garden there arose a small clatter,  
I sprang from my bed to see what might be the matter.  
Away to the window I walked with my cane,  
Opening the shutters and calling out Father Yule’s name.  
  
Magical Yuletide lights glittered throughout Hobbiton,  
Illuminating what I gazed upon like the mid-day sun,  
When I saw, much to the surprise in my heart that I felt,  
An open elven sleigh, and eight large elk.  
  
With a regal driver, so ever-young and proud,  
Taking Father Yule to each hobbit’s hole with nary a word spoken aloud.  
Nearly as rapid as Great Eagles his elk they came,  
And he waved his hand, beckoning, not needing to call them by name;  
  
"Now, my elk! Now, ye who have mastered this run!  
On, my elk! On my pets! On each and every prized one!  
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!  
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"  
  
As the fall leaves of my garden fly in the breeze,  
As the wind is stronger they travel higher with ease,  
So up to the top of Bag End the elk flew,  
With a sleigh full of presents, and Father Yule too.  
And, of course, let's not forget Thranduil.  
  
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,  
The prancing and pawing of each large hoof.  
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,  
Down the chimney Father Yule came with a bound.  
  
Gandalf was dressed in red and white, from his head to his foot,  
His robe somehow free of any tarnishing ashes or soot;  
A bundle of toys he carried over his shoulder,  
No effort to carry, even though his bag looked as big as a boulder.  
  
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His entire being how merry!  
His staff was in his hand, and of course he drank the rest of my sherry!  
His mouth had a wide smile, drawn up like Legolas’ bow,  
His long beard smooth and colored as freshly fallen winter’s snow;

His long pipe he held loosely in his teeth,  
His smoke rings taking the shape of my favorite Yuletide wreath;  
He had a wise and kind face, a heart that was true,  
For as often as he was able, he gave Hobbiton its favored Father Yule.

He had been through much, as had I,  
I was overjoyed to see him, and now we both felt a bit spry;  
A crinkling of the wrinkles by his eyes and a nod of his head,  
Soon let me know how pleased he was to see me up out of bed;

He turned then, and helped himself to the food at my table,  
Afterward filling the dwarves’ stockings and my own, for his tale was no fable,  
And then speaking a single word of command,  
He rose up the chimney, one of my scones with raspberry jam in his hand;

He sprang to Thranduil’s sleigh, and they both drank some of my mead,  
And away they all flew like Gwaihir at top speed.  
But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,  
"HAPPY 1-YULE TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

****

“Thranduil,” Gandalf said as the elk and sleigh landed,  
“I think your sleigh has seen some other…harumph… _activities_ commanded…”

The Elvenking looked to the White Wizard, dressed as the bringer of gifts to all of the Shire,  
“Do not speak of it, Wise One, for while I would have no ire,”  
“Thinking of my son and his hervenn in such ways"...and he shuddered..."I have absolutely no desire.”


	9. Have a holly, jolly Yuletide….

“I will _not_ wear this, Gimli!” Legolas was more sweetly flushed than his dwarf had ever seen him, gazing at the package in his hands as he sat on the floor in their room at the inn. “Especially to Bilbo’s 1-Yule celebration!”

Gimli simply finished braiding his beloved elf’s hair, finalizing his placement of the beads he’d crafted especially for this day. “We should add to these each year, my Love – new mithril and sapphire ones for Margu Lukhûd, and more of these emerald and ruby beads for Yuletide, and soon enough your hair will glow with more faceted light than the walls of Aglarond!”

“Gimli, you’re not listening to me!”

“Aye, I am, and I understand." He was entirely empthatic, but then grew mischievous. "You’re not up for the challenge, so perhaps I should try myself. Although I am not certain it would work as well for me. We could try it later this evening.” He moved to take the box from Legolas’ hands, but the elf simply grasped it more tightly, vacillating between being intrigued and terribly embarrassed.

“As long as you’re certain people won’t be able to tell….”

“Ah, my elf, I cannot guarantee that, not if you flush with pleasure – but I promise you that you will not find your release amongst Bilbo’s visitors. I would simply play with you until you beg me to take you back to our room,” he moved Legolas’ hair away from his neck, trailing kisses down it, “where I would be at your mercy.”

Legolas began to look at his ninth Yuletide gift with much the same expression he’d had when they’d counted felled orcs during the Ring-Quest. “I will do this, _if_ you craft one for yourself that we will try upon our return home, perhaps when we next visit Aragorn and Arwen. And we shall see who maintains the most impartial expressions!”

Gimli chuckled. “Aye, I am more than up for that contest. Come then, lay down, and I will place it within you.”

It was a strangely shaped contraption, bent at the end, with a wide base and tip and straps that would make it stay in place. And when Gimli inserted it, Legolas knew exactly why it was bent as it was – it hit _there_ perfectly.

And when Gimli pressed the button of the separate, discretely small control mechanism that he held in his hand, the pulsations were entirely _just right._

“Gimli,” Legolas gasped, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” He was instantly hard – certainly _that_ would give him away.

“Just wear one of your long tunics, the ones your Adar likes you to wear.” He rummaged through their clothes, finding one of particularly stiff material. “Here, this will be safe, particularly if I place you _just so_ within your leggings.”

Satisfied with the lack of visible signs of their respective need, they went to Bag End, having decided that they would tally agreed-upon, visible signs of pleasure – and after later crafting a similar mechanism for Gimli, whoever had the highest count would lose this new contest.

“Welcome, welcome!” Bilbo said as he opened the door. “Come, your stockings are filled and waiting for you by the fireplace!”

They were both pleasantly surprised to see Gandalf, smoking his favored Longbottom leaf with Pippin and Dwalin by his side, Bofur and Frodo setting the table for the next Yuletide meal.

“Mistletoe!” Sam called as the elf and dwarf stepped into the sitting room.

“So it is,” Gimli said, pulling his elf in for a kiss – and switching on his contraption, his elf gasping loudly against his mouth as delightful sensations grew quickly inside him. “One,” the dwarrow said, beginning his tally.

“No!” Legolas frowned. “That doesn’t count!”

“What doesn’t count?” Pippin said innocently, drinking a tankard of holiday ale. Thankfully his attention was quickly diverted, Dori ushering the pair inside to receive the stockings that Bilbo dearly wanted to show them.

The vowed warriors knew that this particular battle would be hotly contested – and Gimli decided to show little mercy, knowing his elf would certainly have little for him when the tables were turned, likely in Minas Tirith, but perhaps in Aglarond, or even Under the Mountain.

As he looked through the items in his stocking, Legolas’ face was inscrutable, having regrouped after his initial loss of control under the mistletoe, his neutral expression and equally bland words persisting through multiple activations of the tool that brought escalating waves of pleasure.

Next they sat at Bag End’s table, accommodating everyone who’d traveled to celebrate this final Yuletide with Bilbo.

Thranduil sat back in his chair, sipping his wine, waving off food even as Glóin and his wife Nuris tried to get him to eat various delicious items – potatoes of various sorts, pot pies, biscuits and scones, a trio of smoked meats and accompanying cheese…

“Cheese?” Thranduil perked up, looking at the morsel Glóin had placed on his plate. “Does it pair well with this wine?”

Glóin was at a loss - wine was not his specialty - but Merry certainly was not. “Absolutely! Here, let me go and get some other types to try as well!”

Thranduil thought the pairing was delicious, but then he began to frown. “Legolas, are you alright?” he asked as he gazed at his son seated directly across the table.

“Two!” Gimli said, reaching to grab a piece of bread as Legolas struggled to collect himself.  The sensations coursing through his body were overwhelming - he wanted to sweep the table clear and claim his dwarf then and there - yet he hid his desire well, only his Adar suspecting that something might be amiss, but exactly what was not clear.

By the end of the night, the count had reached fourteen, and as the pair left for their room at the inn, walking beside the hobbits of the Ring-Quest and Rose, Pippin turned to Legolas, an inquisitive look on his face. “Tell me, Legolas,” he said questioningly, “what did you drink this eve that has you so jolly?” Though if truth be told, the elf seemed to go straight from jolly to crabby whenever Gimli shouted out a number. 

Elves might be strange, Pippin thought to himself, but perhaps dwarves were even stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzdul translations_  
>  Margu = celebration/festival of  
> lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin translations_  
>  Adar = father


	10. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is partially intended as an “elves are weird” chapter per telemachus’ stories – its not meant to be read as BDSM-style painfully-pleasurable, but rather just purely pleasurable. Because elves are weird. (No offense intended whatsoever to anyone who might enjoy a similar encounter).

“Sam! Look!”

Rosie stood at the window of their temporary accommodations, delighted to see what was occurring outside – soft, drifting flakes of white that must have begun blanketing the ground overnight.

“A white 2-Yule, I reckon Bilbo will be happy to see that.” Sam said as he stood behind his beloved and drew her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder and his hands on their sweet unborn hobbitling.

“As are you – I know how you love snow! This will be a most memorable day. I’m not certain where we packed our mittens and hats, though.”

“Perhaps it will get cold enough that we can go skating,” Frodo said as he joined them, happy to see his dear, faithful friend so content.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that, Frodo, it’s been awhile since we’ve gone…”

Frodo laughed gently and placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “I love your practicality, dear Sam. Will the two of you come with me to Bilbo’s for second Yuletide breakfast? Or would you like some quiet time to yourselves?” He asked knowingly.

“That’s a good idea, Frodo, we’ll join you later.” Rosie said with a fond look on her face, Sam’s own heart swelling as she gazed with love at the bracelet with ten charms that he had gifted her today.

Frodo left with a smile, whistling one of his favored Yuletide tunes, and made his way to Bag End – but was surprised to run into Bofur and Bifur exiting from another nearby abode.

“Frodo!” Bofur yelled joyously. “Do you want to help us deliver these toys? It’s the last of the ones we crafted for the holidays, and in my opinion, they’re the best ones.”

Frodo looked into the bags they each carried, eyes widening as he gazed upon the intricacy of the grand gifts crafted by this pair of skilled toymakers. “These are marvelous. I’d be happy to help you.”

There were only a few hobbit holes left, and Frodo was even more gladdened to see the surprise on children’s faces when they received their unexpected additional gifts.

As they exited the hobbit hole that housed the recipients of their final delivery, they were not whatsoever expecting what happened next - a barrage of snowballs flung their way.

“Watch the braids!” Bofur yelled as they dove for cover behind a bush, trying to quickly plan their defense. “It’s Dwalin and Merry, from what I could tell – and Dwalin’s tactics are ruthless.”

“Apparently!” Frodo said, laughing, “ambushing us like that. His tactics might be ruthless, but his aim is a bit off.”

“Aye, but only due to lack of practice!” came Dwalin’s reply from across the road.

“His ears are sharp, I must admit, old as he is!” Bofur chuckled.

Several snowballs were lofted in their direction as a response.

“Look! Down the road – its Glóin and Dori. Let’s see how rusty their battle skills are.” Bofur counted to three, Dwalin and Merry overhearing again and deciding to join this new – likely diversionary – plan, and their targets were hit with some degree of accuracy and a large degree of luck.

Down the road, Thranduil and Legolas gazed at the scene with their respective keen eyes, chuckling at the impromptu war raging before them.

“You should go help your Adad, Legolas, he looks outnumbered.” Thranduil said softly, and then turned his gaze back to the horizon.

“Oh, I don’t know if I want to be covered in snow - perhaps I should find Gimli and send him as a reinforcement.” Truth be told, he was itching to find his dwarf and join this contest, certain he would be victorious, but it could wait, for his Adar seemed uncharacteristically wistful.

“My lord? Are you alright?”

Thranduil turned to his son, drawn out of his thoughts. “Certainly - this snowfall simply brings back fond memories of your Naneth.”

Legolas smiled widely and put an arm around his Adar. “You had snowball fights as well?”

"She enjoyed the snow," he said simply with a small, pensive smile, and returned to gazing at the horizon.

Legolas was struck by an idea.

Later that evening, Gimli thought the idea was a bit preposterous. “You want to _what_?”

“Ah, so who backs down now?” Legolas asked with a grin.

“Hmph,” Gimli muttered. “I do no such thing – I simply wonder what sort of illness you’ll bring upon yourself with this idea.” He pondered further, knowing his husband’s idea had merit. “Aye, but I suppose, given that you’re an elf,” Gimli said as Legolas grinned, for of course that’s what he was, “and your unexpected reaction to my chocolates, I imagine it’s not out of the question that you might be stimulated by cold on your body – especially if that’s what you think your Adar was referring to.”

And so they rode some distance from Hobbiton to a copse of trees that would provide privacy, no one in their vicinity aside from Arod.

Gimli leisurely removed Legolas’ clothes, trailing kisses along the planes of the smooth, pale body that he so adored, and then gently pushed his elf into the snow. The dwarrow knelt between his elf’s long, wondrously bare legs upon a folded blanket for his own comfort – for he knew with certainty he had no desire to literally roll in the snow.

“It sort of tickles, like your beard.” His beloved giggled.

“Have you never sat with snow against your skin before, my elf? When you’ve bathed in a cold river?”

Legolas shook his head – he’d never thought of doing such a thing until his Adar had seemed to have fond recollections of snowfall.

“First, I shall give you a short cooling massage, so we can test your reaction. Tell me if it becomes uncomfortable – or if you begin to feel numb.”

Legolas wriggled excitedly – massages from his hervenn were one of his favorite things, and combined with the interesting tingling of the snow beneath him, he predicted that he was in for a treat.

The small amount of snow that Gimli rubbed on his skin tingled as well, accentuating Gimli’s skilled, slow, deliberate movements, starting with one of the elf’s favorite places for such things – his shoulders, his bow arm, and then the tips of his beautifully pointed ears.

Legolas grew so relaxed he thought he might fall into reverie, but then when a small amount of snow touched his still-soft elfhood, he jolted awake. “Gimli,” he whispered as his hervenn rubbed it in, then added more for good measure, until he’d grown hard and slick, “Oh, Gimli.”

The tingling was strange, yet somehow wonderful – a cluster of sensations a non-elf might not typically enjoy, perhaps, but a most unusual and stimulating feeling for this elf who lay in the snow, his blond hair arrayed underneath him, his long fingers grasping to draw his beloved dwarf close, his body vibrating with need.

And then Gimli’s broad fingers caressed his smooth entrance as he rubbed a small amount of snow around his beloved’s channel, rewarded with delightful moans.

Gimli sat back on his heels as he looked at the lovely vision before him, unable to hold back a chuckle.

“What?” Legolas whispered, eyes darkened and half-lidded with desire, his face flushed.

“Elves.” Gimli simply said, and then pushed himself into his beloved’s tightness with a long groan.

“Dwarves,” Legolas gasped, arms and legs snaking around his One and holding him close, drawing him deeper as his eyes fluttered shut, relishing how his hervenn's larger-than-average size filled him so completely.

To his surprise, Gimli found the moderate cooling effect of the small amount of snow on his broad, rock hard need to be somewhat stimulating as well – or, more likely, he was entranced by the sight of his elf lost in such pleasure - and soon he was taking Legolas hard and fast, their movement as one lasting longer than they typically did, for the cooling effect seemed to not only intensify sensations, but prolong them, even for Gimli.

Legolas came three times before Gimli found his release, and when Gimli’s seed coated him, the sensation of warmth and cold within his body was so overwhelming that he came again.

Afterward, Gimli lay on his chest for a short time, covered with his cloak – not Legolas’ typically preferred position for cuddling, but he knew there was no chance that his dwarf would take his position in the snow, and his dwarrow's blanket was now unsuitable to lay on, being cold and wet in most places.

“Come,” Gimli said when chill began to seep through him, “you are sweaty and I certainly don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

Legolas tilted his head as his hervenn raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of a cold before?" Gimli asked. 

Legolas laughed. “Gimli, you should know by now that there are many things I haven’t heard of before. But,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “there are many things you haven’t either, such as what these trees are whispering.”

Gimli stared at him for a moment, love overflowing in his heart. “Aye,” he finally said, “Tell me, then, what they say. And don’t leave anything out, I know you like to tell their stories from the beginning. But do so while we ride back, so that I can give you a proper bath. And then we still have today's Yuletide gift to open.”

“Certainly,” Legolas kissed him on the forehead, caressing his marriage braids, and then they rode Arod back to Hobbiton, his tracks the only path to be seen for miles in the freshly fallen snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzdul Translations_  
>  Adad = father  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Adar = father  
> Hervenn = husband  
> Naneth = mother


	11. Yuletide Boxes

“Today,” Bilbo said with a twinkle in his eye, “we shall turn our attention to those who have worked so hard for our homeland this year.”

He pulled out a large box containing numerous smaller boxes as Nori and Pippin attempted to peek inside. Dori swatted their hands away. “Come now,” the dwarrow said firmly, “I do not think these are for us.”

“Indeed not,” Bilbo said happily. “Though that certainly does not mean you have not worked hard! No, Frodo and I want to give gifts in our tradition to those who have provided for us – and the Shire at large.”

He pulled out the top box, larger than the others, wrapped in lively ribbon and plain parchment. “For you, my dear, devoted hobbit,” he said as he passed the box to Sam.

“Oh you shouldn’t have,” Bag End’s now-resident and continuing gardener said with a bit of a blush, “You’ve given me far enough already.”

Bilbo shook his hand as though to swat the words away. “Never, dear Sam. Come, open it!”

He settled into his favorite chair as the others gathered around to observe the unwrapping.

As soon as Sam saw what was inside he wanted to refuse it, but knew from the look on the faces of Bilbo and Frodo that it would be a hurtful thing to do, so he simply graciously accepted it. “This is a most generous gift, Rosie and I will use it carefully and well.”

Inside was an uncountable amount of money along with Bilbo’s favorite gardening book, one he had planned to take with him to the Undying Lands but decided to gift to Samwise instead, for the hobbit would surely put it to good use.

“Come everyone, let’s split up and deliver these throughout the Shire! I made maps!” He divided his guests into smaller groups, providing instructions on where they would travel and to whom they would make deliveries.

Dori and Dwalin shared a look – they would miss Bilbo’s Yuletide celebrations, for they invariably included some sort of map-included, small-scale adventure like this.

More generally they would miss their favorite hobbit, the hobbit they’d thought of as a dwarf for so many years.

Bilbo and Dwalin delivered their portion of the gifts in Hobbiton, and at one stop the hobbit pulled the famed warrior aside. “Take care of them for me, Dwalin.”

“Aye, certainly, but to whom do you refer?”

“Sam, Rosie, Frodo if he stays, Merry, Pippin, surely he needs help staying out of trouble.”

Dwalin smiled, putting an arm around his friend. “I give you my word, swearing by Durin’s name, that I shall keep a watchful eye over them.”

“Even if you have to live another century to do so?” Bilbo said in a challenging voice.

“Aye, of course. Let the years try to take me, I dare them!” he chuckled.

Some time later, Gimli and Legolas had finished delivering boxes to a portion of Elessar’s ever-watchful rangers at the periphery of the hobbit’s realm.

Gimli passed Legolas one last box, and the elf looked at his beloved with a puzzled expression. “I thought we’d delivered these boxes to everyone on our list? Is this for Arod?”

“Nay! He’s received so many gifts already that his belly will soon explode from special carrots and apples! Nay, this is for you! Come, open it.”

Legolas blushed in anticipation. “Here?”

“Aye, there’s no one around. And certainly you have no reason to be bashful, look what we’ve done outdoors this Yuletide already!”

Legolas laughed, opening his gift.

It was entirely unexpected, and the opposite of unwelcome.

“It’s beautiful, Gimli,” he said as he pulled the ornately crafted quiver out of the box, and he marveled at the perfectly fletched arrows within. “Did you make the arrows yourself?” he said with wonder.

“Nay! That far exceeds my skill. I had assistance from one of the Lonely Mountain’s finest archers, and one of your realm’s archers made some final adjustments.”

Legolas pulled out an arrow to gaze upon it – shocked to see the diamond arrowheads. “Gimli! I cannot use these! I….” his attention was then caught by something that felt not quite right near the top of the arrow’s shaft – a very well-hidden mechanism of some sort.

He triggered it, and the arrow revealed a rolled-up piece of parchment attached within.

He unwound it, shaking his head and chuckling as he looked at the incredibly detailed drawing: He and his dwarf graphically depicted in a position that they had not yet tried before.

“It’s meant for display,” Gimli said, “although it’s certainly disguised enough that you could carry it through your forest and none would be the wiser.”

“And I randomly choose an arrow, which decides what we shall try – a game of chance, if you will?”

“Aye, certainly. But in this game, we both win, I can guarantee that.”

There was more to be found in a hidden compartment at the bottom of the quiver, an array of various small craftings, some of which Legolas knew must be pleasure toys, others being lubricants of various types, and a few assorted items he was unsure about.

He knew he would most certainly enjoy being educated.

“Shall we try this here?” Legolas said with a challenging tone as he looked again at the depiction he had opened – it seemed to be vaguely related to an archery-inspired position he had thought of in the first month after they had vowed, but the variations were most ingenious.

“Aye, if you wish – though that one will not permit you to frolic in the snow again. Here, let me see,” and he sorted through the arrows, finding the one he’d been looking for. “ _This_ will allow me to gaze upon you as you become so lost in pleasure in the snow.” He felt a sudden surge of lust course through his body as he recalled his beloved’s utterly wanton state the day before, and let his hands wander over this most precious of bodies after passing the arrow to Legolas.

Legolas’ eyes widened as he looked at the detailed diagram. “ _That?_ Are you sure you can manage …”

“Hmph! Enough talking, my elf.” And Gimli threaded his hand through Legolas’ soft hair, drawing him close enough to kiss.

“But I’m not sure if you can sustain…”

Gimli pulled back, eyebrows raised in mock affront. “I most certainly can sustain anything I set my mind to, my lovely One.”

“I mean this position, Gimli, it hardly seems….”

But all he uttered after that was a long sigh as his hervenn’s mouth captured his, the dwarrow’s calloused, warm hand lightly stroked the front of his leggings, _just so_ ….and he quickly wanted more, pulling his hervenn to the ground to lay atop him as his slender hips ground against his dwarf’s broader ones.

From the look in his eye, and the answering hardness that rubbed in such a tantalizing way against his own, Gimli was entirely up for the challenge.


	12. We wish you a merry Yuletide and a happy new year….

“It’s been a memorable Yuletide, my friends, and my pleasure to share one last Margu Lukhûd with you, dwarves and elves and hobbits that I fondly regard more than most, and that's a fact.” Bilbo toasted all who sat at the long table at Bag End, stomachs filled to the brim - for now - following Yuletide afternoon tea.

A chorus of _Aye_ and _Here_ , _Here_ with an accompaniment of clinking glassware followed, and then the gathering dispersed, some moving to clear the table and others beginning preparations for the next Yuletide meal.

Bilbo beckoned for Sam and Legolas to join him in Bag End’s study.

“I am not certain if I’ll see you again before I sail, Legolas, so I wanted to pass these along today to the both of you.” He closed the door, and then hobbled over to a chest on the floor and began rummaging through it. “I would like to pass along knowledge that a gardener and a wood-elf would most certainly make good use of.” He continued to search, and then with an “aha!” drew out a set of tomes.

He motioned for them to sit as he made himself comfortable, and flipped through the top book. “I do not have copies, so you will need to share these between yourselves, but it will give you reason to meet to exchange learnings!”

Legolas waited patiently, uncertain what sort of knowledge of flora this hobbit might be able to pass along to one of the woodland realm – but he knew better than to think too much on that, having learned that hobbits often held various surprises up their sleeves.

“This first book contains my scribing from meetings with Lord Elrond – who actually gained his expertise from meetings with your Adar, Legolas, during the Second Age.”

Legolas was slightly disappointed. Perhaps there was little he might learn after all, for Thranduil had educated his son well, and certainly passed along his knowledge of plant lore.

“I would take particular note of this chapter on niphredil’s properties – oil harvested from the petals makes an incredibly stimulating lubricant, and the dried leaves of the plant are a potent aphrodisiac.” Bilbo said matter-of-factly as he glanced over the chapter.

Sam spat out the tea he was drinking.

Bilbo continued to look studiously at the current page of the book, trying to decide if there was anything else of interest to mention. “Ah yes, but do not ingest niphredil extract with leaves of the mallorn – or you will end up with an erection that may not go away for a day.”

He closed the book, handing it to Sam as Legolas looked at the elderly hobbit, somewhat speechless.

Apparently there were many things his Adar hadn't shared with him - knowledge that none in the kingdom shared very openly, it seemed.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Bilbo continued, “I have a book here that specifically covers the sexually-relevant properties of tree bark. Legolas, you take this. And then, of course, you can switch after you’ve each studied them.”

Legolas took the book, flipping through it, somewhat astonished at the information within. He truly thought he knew all there was to know of the properties of trees – but apparently his expertise in this domain wasn't as thorough as he had believed.

He would soon correct that, he vowed with a small smile, flipping through the book and noting items that caught his interest.

“Now this,” Bilbo continued, “is a copy of one of the only things of Noldor origin that King Thranduil thinks is of any use.” He handed the tome to Legolas, its title roughly translating to _Fëanáro’s Manual of Advanced Bonding Implements and Positions._

The Prince blushed as he flipped through the detailed book, complete with graphic pictoral depictions.

After Bilbo had passed another tome to Sam, the younger hobbit cleared his throat, fighting his embarrassment. “Um, Mr. Bilbo, sir, what made you decide to gift these to us?”

“Oh, it’s simple, my dear boy.” He looked at both of them with shrewd eyes. “I think both of you can make good use of them, and I imagine your knowledge could stand to be furthered. Am I correct?”

They both nodded slightly, nearly in slow-motion, still taken aback by this entirely unexpected, impromptu lesson.

“Besides,” the elderly hobbit continued, “I have committed the information to memory. Should I win my suit and be reunited with Thorin, I want to be prepared, for if intimacy is possible in the world beyond this one," he paused for a moment as though his mind had drifted away, but then returned again to the task at hand, "I do not want to be shown to be a complete novice compared to him. Dwarves are master craftsfolk, especially when it comes to sex toys and implements – wouldn’t you agree, Legolas?” He looked with a completely serious expression at the elf.

Legolas raised an eyebrow and smiled widely. “Indeed they are.” He looked down to one of his books, his embarrassment shed in the face of Bilbo’s neutral, near-scholarly tone. “So tell me, Bilbo, for this bark shaving mixture here, what exactly is…..”

And so they talked until the next Yuletide meal – by far enough time for Legolas and Sam to be well-prepared to pass along their newfound knowledge and deliver unexpected gifts on this, the twelfth and final day of Yule.

And as for the new year? Well, while it was somewhat bittersweet that Bilbo and the others were sailing, they both knew their future held firm need for study and _practice_ , for any good scholar would put in the time needed to learn to apply bookish principles in an expert manner.

"So Legolas," Sam whispered to Legolas later than evening when an opportunity arose, "If King Thranduil is an expert with this, perhaps we should ask him to discuss these books with us?"

"I heard my name!" Thranduil said in his ever-regal tone, gliding over to the pair, "What do you need assistance with? I should be happy to help you in any scholarly pursuit." It was true - whenever he'd had the time, he'd tutored his son when he was young, and he missed discussing academics with Legolas.

Legolas simply blushed, not at all certain he wanted to discuss _this_ with his Adar.

And then he caught sight of Gimli across the room, and thought of the so-very pleasurable snow....and decided not to completely rule out the possibility. Perhaps by having Thranduil review material with Sam, and Sam passing along what he'd learned....

For now, he had enough new material to last, quite literally, a long time.

Starting with the essence of bark from spruce and fir trees. Why, there were some right outside....

And so Legolas slipped out the front door of Bag End to ready his supplies for later, Bilbo noticing his leave-taking and smiling in satisfaction. He dearly hoped he would see his own dwarrow again and somehow put at least a portion of his knowledge to use, but if the life beyond this one didn't permit anything of the sort, at least this love-struck elf could make good use of his gathered learnings with his own bearded One.

For Bilbo Baggins was nothing if not generous with those he cared most for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khuzdul Translations_  
>  Margu = celebration/festival of  
> Lukhûd = lights  
> ****  
>  _Sindarin Translations_  
>  Hervenn = husband  
> Adar = father


End file.
